


A Court of Wrath and Moonlight, Part Two

by whokilledkat



Series: A Court of Wrath and Moonlight [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Graphic Scenes of Torture/Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, mentioned thoughts of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledkat/pseuds/whokilledkat
Summary: With Tamlin's daughter Keorah in the thicket of enemy lands, Rhys and Feyre's son Milo as well as the rest of the Inner Circle must rally all of Prythian in order to face down new and old enemies alike.





	1. Flesh and Temper

Milo

I woke up feeling groggy. 

The inside of my head was sticky like cotton balls, and my tongue was dry as sandpaper. The grey sunlight beat on my face, and I reached over to curl into the familiar warmth I knew was only arm's distance away. 

But when I reached out, all I found was more sheets. 

My brows furrowed as I saw the wrinkled. I would've woken if Keorah had left. 

“Keorah?” I called, assuming she was bathing or washing up. No response. 

If she wasn't here, then she was definitely downstairs. I suppressed my urge to jump to panic and improbable conclusions as I always did. Instead I pushed away the sheets and smiled as I took in the tattoos littering my body. It shocked me everytime to look down at the ink, to remember that I actually did that. That the scars were practically erased. 

Nonetheless, I coated myself in the glamour I usually bore. No need to give my parents heart attacks this early in the morning. 

After slipping into trousers and a loose long sleeve I padded down the stairs and smiled when I smelt pancakes and bacon. Keorah knew my favourites, and was probably burning them, but the fact that she was cooking at all brought a warmth to my chest. 

Yet when I entered the kitchen, it was mum and Isra there, Keorah nowhere in sight. 

I paused where I stood on the edge of the dinette and the kitchen. It was a cool morning, and clad in her sweater and leggings Mum was humming and Isra was colouring in her journal. There was breakfast splayed out on the table, set for only the immediate family and my mate which was a relief if only to know that Oris and company hadn’t stayed over, but my mate was obviously not here. 

My heart pounded in my ears. _Don't panic don't panic don't panic don't panic_

“Where's Keorah?” the words were choked and strained. Mum didn't even look up at me, just shrugged her shoulders and flipped a pancake. 

“Haven't seen her.” She chirped the words like Keorah could be just around the corner with a cheeky grin on her face, playing a cruel trick or something of the sort, but I also felt something in me shift. More than just a nagging feeling, but the sensation like a barrier was being slammed down between us. 

“ _No no no no—_ ” I sent a spear of energy down the bond and

 

 

there was nothing. A flame once burning blew out by the night breeze.

Where there was usually sunshine and fresh cotton and pearl smiles, lavender skies—

There was nothing. Like somebody had taken the string between us and sheared right through it. 

“Milo?” Mum had dropped her spatula and set a hand on my back. Isra’s ears perked up and she tossed her notebook aside, bounding out of her chair to stand behind mum.

I couldn't breathe. She was gone, they took her in the night, she's _dead_ —

Distantly, thunder shook the earth. Isra's face broke into tears as the skies darkened and the land was covered by shadows. The Sidra shook with the rage of a thousand seas as the house shook as a dark figure touched down in the courtyard. 

The brick splintered down the middle. 

“Go hide,” I told Isra. Mum shook her head. 

“It's dad,” Mum's voice trembled as she pushed off and raced into the backyard. 

My dad was bent forward, braced on his knees, and even from here I could see him hurling his guts onto the grass. 

If this had anything to do with my mate—

I winnowed to dad's side. Even with immortal speed and strength, it wasn't fast enough to get to my father. 

“Where is she?”

He was panting hard, resisting the urge to heave once more. I didn't care. If she was dead—

“What?”

“ _Where is my wife_?” 

“RHYS!” Mum skidded to a halt beside dad and kneeled with him. 

His face broke. 

In my fifty years of existence, I had never seen my father like this. 

Mum cradled his face in her hands as he began to sob hard, so much so that his arms gave out and he collapsed into her. Isra was there then and she curled into my side. Despite the tempest rising within me at whatever may have occurred between Keorah and dad, I still laid a supportive hand on Isra's shoulder. We were both stunned at the sight of our parents in such dismay. 

“ _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ ” he whispered the words over and over as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“It's okay,” Mum smoothed dad's hair back. “Rhys. Rhys. Breathe. Look at me and breathe.”

Slowly, dad opened his eyes and loosed a shaky, trembling breath. Mum reached up and wiped the tears that fell from his eyes. 

“Okay. Talk. What happened?”

“They took her,” he choked. “She took Keorah.”

It was mum’s turn to pause. 

It was the entire world’s turn to pause. 

Distantly, other figures touched down. Dad or mum must’ve alerted them to the ongoing danger, but the details didn’t matter as my mother froze and her mouth parted with shock as her eyes flicked from dad’s to mine. 

I ignored their feelings, I ignored them if only to fill the empty void beginning to bore itself within my mind as piece by piece Keorah drifted away. “ _Where is my mate_?”

Dad coughed and sagged against mum who tried to hold him upright. He didn’t seem physically harmed, so I didn’t feel sorry as I unleashed my wrath upon him. “Keo came to me last night. She drugged you so it wouldn’t wake you up, and she came to me and forced me to take her back. To hand her over. She wanted to implant herself in their stronghold and take them down from the inside. I tried to convince her not to, Milo. I swear to the Mother that I tried to tell her to say. She wouldn't listen, and she was going to go whether I went with her or not, so I winnowed us in.”

I wasn’t breathing. I was seeing red, trying to picture all the ways I could’ve stopped her, the signs I should’ve picked up on, I should’ve _known_ —

“We went to the Spring Court border. When they showed up, something was off. Tamlin was acting strange. They took Keorah, put her in this orb, and their High Priestess Nevanthi…” Dad shook his head as more tears spilled over onto his cheeks. “It was her the entire time. Right in plain sight.”

“You let her go?” Cassian barked the question. I hadn’t even realized he’d arrived, and found Mor, Azriel and Amren behind him as well. Cassian’s body was trembling with rage. “Rhys, she’s a child. She can’t make those kinds of decisions for—” 

“Where is she now?” My voice broke, but I didn’t care. My mate, in the hands of her father, her betrothed, all the people who’d broke her down and cared so little for her that she’d rather be _ended_ than spend even a few more weeks in their presence. 

“Milo—”

“Don’t,” I breathed, “say what you’re about to say. Where. Is. My. Wife?” Mum’s eyes widened at the statement. Even Cassian blinked, but I didn’t care. My fury was pouring off me in waves and there was no way to keep me from unleashing the unadulterated wrath pent up within my chest beating like a white hot ball of hell fire. Isra ran to Mor’s arms who took in the entire situation with silver lining her eyes.

He let her go. He lead her there. My own father. 

“I don’t know. They took her. She…” his eyes glassed over as his breath hitched in his throat. “She took her.”

“She?” I shouted. “Who’s ‘she’?”

Dad dragged his eyes so slowly to mine, it was like they were resisting the weight of his soul crashing and burning upon him. 

“Amarantha. She’s back. She’s alive.”

There was such silence as soon as those words were said. In my mind, in the land. Even the Sidra paused to lean in and suckle on the kernel of information my father just divulged. 

My parents’ captor. Prythian’s captor for fifty decades to be awoken once more. 

And now, she had my mate in her hands. 

“It’s impossible,” Amren hissed. “It’s a glamour. A mind trick. They are messing with you, Rhysand. The Cauldron was destroyed, and there is no other earthly or Godly power to resurrect her.”

“And if she was resurrected long ago? When the Cauldron was still in its prime?” The words held a bite. That meant was he’d seen was true. He wouldn’t jump to conclusions lest he explored every possible kink and bend in the set of scenarios. “I know her presence. I know how she feels. I,” he choked on a sob, “I can sense her just as well as I can sense my mate.”

And though if it were any other moment in time, any other parallel universe where my mate hadn’t been taken not only by her father and Carrick, but Prythian’s captor herself, my heart would’ve bled at the words. I would’ve jumped to my father’s side, done anything I could’ve to console him. 

But he was there with her as Keorah was taken. He could’ve stopped it, talked her down, done anything except this. 

Like a ticking bomb, I exploded.

“ _You watched her be taken by Amarantha and did nothing_?”

Dad flinched. 

“ _Milonius_.” Mum scolded me, eyes alit with the pain of decades wearing her down. “That’s enough.”

“Find her. Now.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. Their wards, their magic… it’s impenetrable.”

“Then find a way through them!” I could feel my face contorting with rage. 

“There’s nothing to be done!” Mum yelled. “Now, calm down.”

Something snapped. “How the hell can you say that? How can you stand there and act like if this was happening to you, you wouldn’t be screaming bloody murder and scaling the entire damn territory to find dad?” I crossed the distance between my father and I. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when I said, “She was the _one_ thing I had. The Mother dealt me a shit hand, but at least I had my mate.” Sobs erupted from my throat as I thought of all the things Amarantha may be doing to Keorah, my mate, my wife, my angel. “You took that away from me today, and I will never forgive you.”

I winnowed away before the screaming began.

*

Feyre

Time had frozen when Rhys had said her name. 

Feyre couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on, yet pretended like she could nonetheless if only to keep the unit around her in tact. If only to keep her mate from completely falling apart alongside her. Though she knew that her family would understand, this wasn’t the place or time to lose her sanity. No, that would be behind doors where she’d have the proper circumstances to cry herself to sleep. Scream herself hoarse. Or perhaps find a lovely little clearing and incinerate the entire thing. 

Blood everywhere, marble floors, snapping necks and ash daggers upon ruby pedestals—

Feyre blinked and loosed a shuddering breath before taking in the dirty, ugly aftermath.

Chaos broke as soon as Milo disappeared. 

Nesta took Isra away, and Feyre was grateful that her infant daughter did not have to witness the scene around them. Cassian and Mor were screaming at each other while Azriel tried to step between them and calm the duo down. Amren simply stood there, expressionless, watching them all. 

Feyre couldn't remember a time when the Ancient one had been at a loss for words. Until now. 

The name echoed throughout ever nerve of her body over and over. _Amarantha_. A name she thought she'd never have to hear again. A name she'd wiped from her memories, from her nightmares, had cleansed from herself as thoroughly as possible—she and Rhys had already healed these wounds. Well, ‘heal’ was a strong word, but they'd struggled with those memories for nearly a century and finally felt as though they'd surpassed them. The occasional nightmare begged to differ, but it was far better than the state they'd been in prior. 

But now... now, all hell was going to break loose. 

Amarantha haunted her dreams. The three months she'd spent in her captivity would weigh on Feyre for the rest of her existence, not to mention the sound of her neck snapping reverberating throughout her body, or the slumping of the two innocent bodies as a soundtrack to her nightmares. 

But Rhys was her subject for half a century. A slave to Amarantha in the most despicable ways. 

So she forgot herself for her mate, and whatever he needed to face this. 

_What can I do?_

Her mate's violet eyes, twin to her son's, flicked up to meet hers. _I... I don't know. I don't know._

_Ok_. She pushed a breath out to try to calm her nerves, but they were going haywire. Feyre's mind was scattered, the pieces too far apart to join and create a cohesive, productive thought. She told her mate, _Go inside. Take a bath. Eat, rest. I'll deal with them then join you._

_Neither of us should be alone right now._ The bags under his eyes sagged with the weight of fifty years of torture. _I can stay. I’ll pull myself together._

_No. This isn’t something you just pull yourself together for, and they need one of us here right now. Go upstairs, I’ll be there in a few minutes, Rhys, I promise._

His eyes flooded with relief. Feyre knew that Rhys couldn't deal with the rest of the Inner Circle and their emotions in this moment of chaos. Yet he still asked, _Are you sure?_

_Yes_. _Go_. She leaned down the press a kiss to his sweaty brow. 

He didn't need another push before winnowing away to their bedroom within the manor. Cassian spun on his heel from where he was arguing with a Mor, eyes full of lethal fury he usually saved solely for the battlefield. Feyre nearly flinched at the sight. 

“Where did he go?” Cassian barked. “Where is he?”

“He went to rest.” Feyre said the words as levelly as she could manage. She clutched her hands together to control their shaking, only to dismiss Cassian completely and face Azriel instead. “Azriel, what can you tell me?”

“My Spring Court source was cut off about a half hour ago. Before that, he said it was chaotic, everyone was running along, and then everyone within the manor disappeared. Even in the nearby towns, everywhere—it's like the entire Spring Court vanished.”

Mor swore under her breath. 

“I need to talk to him,” Cassian insisted, pushing past Feyre to head to the manor. “How could he have given her away? How did he think it was in any way intelligent to—”

“Cassian.” She commanded. “Stop.”

Cassian pivoted on his heel, face beet red as he yelled, “Amarantha has Keo, Feyre. She's probably terrified and lonely and clueless as to how to handle—”

“ _I know_.” Feyre's voice seemed to boom across the land, and the sound of her family’s breath disappeared. 

“Have you forgotten that? Because I am reminded every day of what that felt like.”

Tears streamed down Cassian’s face. Mor hiccuped on a sob. 

“I know what she's feeling. I also know that despite that, she wanted to do this. For us. For her mate. We’ll do everything we can to get her out, but it was her choice.” The High Lady took one step closer to the General and lowered her voice, not wanting to cause anymore outrage than what had already occurred. They couldn’t lose their heads now, not when the stakes were at their highest. “Rhys is going to get enough guilt, shame and berating from his son, Cassian. He doesn’t need it from you as well.”

There was a tension that wore off Cassian’s shoulders. He deflated and admitted quietly through the thickness in his voice, “I’d just started getting to know her. She’s just so…”

Feyre knew. She knew because Keo had brought pure, unadulterated joy and sunshine to their home, to her son. Not only that, but Feyre felt like she and the girl were endlessly similar. Every time she looked at Keorah, she thought of herself when facing Tamlin all those years ago, the fear and guilt and shame of being weak in the face of somebody you loved; somebody who supposedly loved you. In having to shed that fear and let people in once you left the toxic situation you’d been in. Having to peel away the defences you put up just to feel loved once more, without fear that the love and trust will be turned against you. 

Feyre felt like she knew Keo, whether or not their interactions had been brief. They understood each other’s pain. And because Keo was her son’s mate, she felt even more of an affinity to the Lady of Spring. 

One that she’d never get to deepen should anything go wrong. 

If Amarantha was back, then they needed to rally all of Prythian against her. This was no longer the Night Court versus the Spring Court as everyone sat back and watched the destruction. No, Amarantha had made this personal for every person in every court who she’d wronged. If the Inner Circle could get the entire land to fight, then hopefully they’d be able to stop her. 

“Mor, send out invitations to the other High Lords and Ladies for a meeting at the House of Wind tonight. Tell them it is urgent, mention Hybern and the Spring Court. When they reply do not take no for an answer. If need be, winnow to them and convince them. I don’t care what you need to say, just do it.”

Mor swallowed hard. “Yes, my Lady.” Feyre could see Mor’s chin quivering, but she couldn’t handle everyone else’s emotions now. Not when she herself was on the break of combusting right then and there in the yard, and definitely when her mate was alone and probably losing his mind as well in their bedroom. She needed to hurry and get to him. 

“Cassian, warn the troops up North. I know we just put up a fight for Keorah, but now it’s personal. They should respond this time. If they don’t, then hopefully the rest of Prythian’s army makes up for it.”

A nod from the General. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Ok, go. Now.” They didn’t need another word before Mor took Cassian’s hand to winnow him North. The only ones left were Azriel and Amren, the former staring straight ahead as wisps of shadow whispered in his ear, the latter standing rigidly with her eyes squeezed shut. 

“Amren, warn the city. Double the wards. Velaris didn’t fall seventy five years ago, it’s not going to fall now. We’ll organize a town hall meeting once we’ve got the plans in order.”

But Amren wasn’t responding. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, fists clenched. Feyre as well as the others remained quiet as they waited for the woman to compose herself, yet she didn’t shift. 

“Amren?” Feyre repeated, gentler this time. 

Amren exhaled sharply through her nose. “I did not let this Circle fall apart. I did not let this city crumble to ash. I did not, because to do so was in my capabilities. Capabilities I no longer have.”

Feyre had never known Amren to express such emotion or vulnerability. Feeling incapable, though ironic, was a common feeling amongst most of them, yet one Amren nearly ever expressed. 

“Amren,” Azriel said. 

“Quiet. I don’t need your reassurance.” She bared her teeth to him. 

Feyre looked between the two, Azriel staring Amren down with a questioning, worried gaze, and Amren as per usual looked vicious and wicked. 

Feyre was on the brink of snapping at them all. 

There would be other times for this. Though she wished she could be gentler, her mind was not in the right place to be comforting everybody else. Not as she kept imagining blood on marble floors or Clare Beddor’s body nailed to the wall. 

“Azriel…” she sighed. “Do what you can. Just see what needs to be done.” 

Amren stalked away through the back exit of the courtyard to the stables, most likely to head to city square. Feyre knew she and Rhys should’ve made the proper arrangements for their citizens, but Feyre considered that if it were anytime to slack off a little, it would be now. Azriel, on the other hand, simply put his hand on Feyre’s shoulder and squeezed before pushing off with a flap of his wings. Feyre would have to warn her sisters to the danger, but they obviously must’ve known the gist of it through their significant others. 

It was only then standing in the middle of the courtyard of the house she’d spent months planning to build, months of peace and hope and rejoice, ones without war or bloodshed, did the full force of what was to come hit her. 

_Amarantha_. 

The name shuddered down her spine. 

Thoughts of the Attor, of Clare, of her infected ghastly arm—

Blood falling across her face like acid rain, feeling every bone break in her body one by one until her neck finally snapped and the life left her. Nightmare after nightmare of Rhys being trapped underneath her—

_Feyre_. 

The word echoed through her mind and pulled her from her thoughts. On the other end of the mating bond laid a cold, weary soul, like a night desert devoid of heat and light. The very opposite of what usually awaited her, as though the sun woke up one morning to instead shed beams of black light across the land. Without another moment’s hesitation, Feyre winnowed to their bedroom. 

Feyre felt heavier and heavier with each step she took towards her mate. He was not curled in the bed, as she first assumed he'd be, She could feel his presence emanating from the corner of their room, in the space occupied by their closet. It was massive, filled with Rhys’s and her clothes—the ones they wore most frequent, anyway. Any extravagant gowns or intricate tunics were stored in a separate closet on the third floor next their personal armoury. 

The faelights were completely winked out as she stepped into the space, her footsteps muffled by the material surrounding her. Even the door somehow clued in that this was a delicate moment and closed behind her quietly. Feyre knew by muscle memory how to meander around until her feet found her mate sitting, curled up with his knees to his chest, underneath Feyre’s rack of blouses and trousers. Without saying a word, she sat next to her mate, tilting her head back to rest against the cold wall. It was peaceful here in this space. No family to pester them. No kids to take care of. No enemies to face. Just her, her mate and the darkness; what they are bred of, where they find solace. 

Feyre couldn’t figure out what to say. She didn’t know where to begin, or how to broach the subject, so she just whispered to him, _I love you_. 

He was quiet. For several beats, for several eons. It was so rare to see her mate so prostrate that she could only stay silent as he said, “I tried getting in to bed and sleeping, but I kept feeling her fingers curl around my shoulder.”

Pain bloomed in her chest, hooking its fingers into her ribs and breaking them one by one. 

“I kept feeling her nails clawing down my back. Her mouth, her teeth, her hair—I couldn’t shake the feeling of her weight on top of me.” His voice was strangled, and she squeezed her eyes shut as he said, “And every time I closed my eyes, the room fell away, and I was back there. Under the Mountain, in her bedroom. Her slave, once more.”

Despite the aching in Feyre’s chest, she said, “I won’t let it happen, Rhys. I will not let her put a hand on you.”

Somewhere in the darkness, his hand found hers. She squeezed his palm, damp with sweat, and curled into Rhys’s side when his arm reached out to wrap around her. 

Slowly, as the sounds of his shaky breathing rattled beside her, her thoughts began to voice themselves without her acknowledgment. “I keep seeing their faces. Of the fae I killed. The young boy’s brilliant, beautiful eyes. The prayer the woman kept whispering. I keep hearing the squishy thud of the dagger being plunged into their hearts; their bodies hitting the floor. And Clare’s screams.” The last words were only a rush of breath. 

Rhys only pulled Feyre closer. They were quiet for a while, only the sounds of their breath filling the black space. Then, Rhys said, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that she’s back, or the fact that I just handed my son’s mate to her on a silver platter.”

“You couldn’t have known, Rhys,” Feyre implored. “You had no idea that you were walking into a trap. You did what you thought was right and you honoured Keorah’s wishes. We both know how headstrong that girl is. One way or another, she would’ve made her way to the Spring Court. At least she had you by her side in those moments to give her some strength.”

Rhys nodded, but she knew that no amount of assurance would appease the knots in his chest. Feyre knew when guilt weighed down on Rhys, he carried it upon his shoulders every day for the rest of his life. 

“He’ll never forgive me,” those are the words that made Rhys pull his knees to his chest and sob, hard. All I could do was run my hand over his back soothingly as he let out strangled cries. 

She never wanted to hear the sounds again. She wanted to erase the sorrows from his mind, strip him from any pain that plagued his heart. Because each broken sob, each muffled whimper was a stab to her very soul. 

“I’m a horrible father.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that, Rhysand, because we both know that isn’t true.” Feyre and Rhysand were good parents. They raised their children right, they loved and adored their children in every way they could, despite the complications that’ve occurred over the years with their eldest. “Milo is just in a state right now. He’s in shock. He didn’t mean what he said.” Feyre murmured the words as the wave of sobs slowly appeased. Though she might not have completely believed her words, she still said, “Besides, we’ll get her back. We’ll do anything it takes.” There was no way of knowing they’d get Keorah back safe and sound. There was no way of knowing she was already dead. 

They couldn’t afford to think like that. 

“You think so?” Rhys asked, his voice still thick with emotion. 

And even though Feyre was swimming in a world of uncertainty, these scraps of hope were the only things their frail fingers could latch onto. “Yes. I do.”

 

Milo

There was a raging tempest within me. One that couldn't be quieted by the fire nor the ice in my bones, one that had a complete mind of its own and created destruction wherever it saw fit. My footsteps echoed across the marble courtyard as I meandered through the rose bushes, my mind unable to wrap around what'd happened. 

The Spring Court manor was bare. All of the Spring Court was bare, save for stray horses now roaming freely or creatures lurking within the thick woods. No fae could be found within an inch of the land save for the wild creatures, left to their own devices. 

When I first landed at the Spring Court border, I thought I'd be met with force. Wards. Anything to keep me on the outside. And when nothing stopped me from trespassing into their lands, then I tried winnowing Under the Mountain. 

An ancient force, beyond my skills and powers, kept me from piercing though. 

When that didn't work, I went to all seven secret passages built during the period of Amarantha's reign. All seven were sealed, and my hands still ached from trying to physically claw my way through the compacted mud and dirt and magic. Blood still trickled from the three fingernails I'd broken in the process. 

The manor was exactly as I remembered it save for the lack of servants milling about. 

All around was marble, lush, pastel curtains, thick tapestries depicting ancient tales of the Mother and the creation of the Cauldron. Even the flowers in the vases were still fresh. 

I vaguely remembered my way around and clambered the stairs. My muscles were clenched, ready to fight off any threats, but my magic sensed that no other being was present. Only myself and the empty house. 

My feet brought me to her quarters before my mind even registered where I was. The second I opened the door, the scent of her hit me, and I fell to my knees. 

I knew we weren't guaranteed an eternity. I knew that, odds were, we had a few weeks at best. Her father was going to stop at nothing, and our power and numbers were limited. But at least, I thought, at least we'd have those precious moments to say goodbye, to love each other properly, to try to squeeze forever within the small time frame we had. But they both had taken that away from me. Keorah and my father. 

How could she do it?

How could she tell me she loved me, she would do anything for me, then leave me? After everything that's happened...

The hollowness, the aching emptiness in my bones never ceased. Only grew and expanded by the minute, until in the end, I simply ceased to be or feel. 

 

Keorah

Everything hurt. 

Every cell that composed my body, every pulse of my heart, every raspy, croaked breath, ached with the burning of a thousand suns. 

The air around me smelled charred, like burning flesh, and heat pressed down upon me, coating my body in a sheen of sweat. My leathers were in ribbons and my limbs felt powerless to move, much less stand and fight back. The marble was cool against my cheek, and when I opened my eyes, it didn’t take me long to figure out I wasn’t at the Spring Court. 

They said everyone had abandoned these grounds. That the entrances had been sealed off, the throne room and all connected to it left deserted and untouched. On the walls, bones hung almost like art pieces, and dried blood covered an entire slab of the western wall. Fires burned in torches all around the darkly lit room, but no matter how many times I blinked my eyes, I still remained here. 

There was no mistaking it. I was Under the Mountain. 

And before me, upon the dais, the queen herself smirked down at me, fire dancing in her eyes. To her right, Papa clenched the arms of his chairs, yet seemed stuck to his chair, his features set in a deep scowl. 

Amarantha nodded to the Attor, who stood at the foot of the dais. “Let’s begin.”

The last thing I remembered was the Attor approaching me with a smile of razor-sharp teeth, then the pain began. 

There was an awful noise that overtook the throne room, and it took me hours to figure out it was the sound of my own screams.


	2. Lies and Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah's life really can't get any worse at this point.

 

Keorah

I curled deeper within the blanket and sank further within to Milo, hand curling around the book I’d started a little over an hour ago, after we’d returned from our morning walk along the perimeter outskirts of the cabin. Isra had joined us this time and pelted her brother several times over with her ice bullets. He was already bruising, but took it anyway to please his little sister. 

Elain was busy in the kitchen brewing whatever marvellous stew that left rosemary and beef fragrance wafting through the air and caused my mouth to water, despite the fact we’d eaten breakfast a short time ago. I guess that’s what it was like during Solstice time: eat until you physically cannot eat anymore. At least, those were the rules I was abiding by during this week of relaxation. 

Nesta and Amren had gone out to the nearby village for some leisurely shopping and Feyre had stepped out with Mor into the storage room-converted-paint-studio Cassian had built last year for Feyre. Azriel was out hunting with Rhys, but Cassian had also taken the quiet morning to get a few extra hours of sleep on the chaise long perpendicular to our sofa. His soft snores brought a grin to my face. 

Milo shifted beneath me and wrapped his arms tighter around my waist. I turned to gaze at his face, so lovingly peaceful in his undisturbed slumber. It’d been awhile since I’d seen him so at ease with himself, with his family—it in turn made me feel at ease that he seemed happy. For the first time in a while. 

Cassian’s loud snore snagged my attention and apparently, woke himself up as well, because his eyes fluttered open and he glanced around the room, blinking rapidly. When he found me grinning despite my efforts to hold it back, he sighed. 

“Snoring again?”

“Like a damned hog.”

He snorted. “Sorry, Keeks. Can’t help it.”

With an eye roll I said, “Your list of annoying nicknames is truly endless, is it?”

He smiled, but it was more of a mocking grimace. “Only because it annoys you so dearly.”

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes once more. “You’re insufferable.”

“After nearly six hundred years of existence, Keko, I’m immune to all hurtful words.”

“Your child is going to have serious ego issues.” I laughed. But Cassian seemed paused, frozen. 

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Child.” He said the word tentatively. 

“Yes,” I said, thinking of Nesta’s swollen belly, “your child. You and Nesta. Baby.”

He still couldn’t grasp it. Once again, his face screwed up, and suddenly everything around me seemed to drift, curling away into smoke. I tried to clutch the arms around me, but Milo, he was dissipating with each steady beat of my heart—

Until I woke with a gasp. I wasn’t in the cabin up north. Milo didn’t have his arms around me. 

I was chained to a table with thick, heavy glowing chains that made my magic run dry. No matter how hard I focused or concentrated, the usual mental trigger finger on my powers was nowhere to be found, and my limbs felt weak. Without my strength, it was like I was spineless. 

All around me, the cavern only flickered with the dim torchlights. My head whipped to the side to see two figures: Amarantha and what seemed like a young boy clutching his hands together. He wore rags, which probably gave him hypothermia in this frigid space, and a chain extending from his ankle to the wall confirmed my suspicions that he was a prisoner. 

I hadn’t realized Amarantha had spoken she barked, “Speak.”

My throat was parched dry, my voice weak from screaming. “Where are we?”

“I don’t have time for your wasteful questions. How did you break the hold?”

“Hold? What hold?”

Amarantha’s lip curled and I only felt the pain of her palm hitting my face after the sound echoed across the walls of the damp, empty room. The boy flinched. “Insolent fool. I knew I should have made that worm give you some sort of education.” Without another glance towards me, the red queen only muttered to the other, “You know what to do,” before exiting the chamber without another word. 

Slowly, he emerged from his kneeling position. Bathing in the dim light, I realized it wasn’t a young boy, only seemed so with her shorn hair in the darkness. It was stark red, like Amarantha’s, only her skin was withered and dirty, likely from being locked in here doing Mother knew what to me or others. Freckles covered the expanse of her delicate cheekbones and pale eyes the colour of bleached grass held mine sorrowfully as she lifted her hands. 

My eyes widened and instinctively I tried to raise my arms to protect myself. “Please don’t.” I could barely manage anything above a hoarse whisper. 

The female only put her slender fingers on my arms and pulled them away from my face to place them back at my sides. 

I didn’t think I was hydrated enough to cry, but the tears still came. The girl paid them no heed as she let her hands hover above my mind. The darkness captured me once again, and I was gone.

*

I woke with the taste of ash in my mouth. 

I was on the same block of concrete in the same room, only this time the female prisoner was gone and I was alone amidst the flickering light and the distant sound of voices and screaming. The damp air only cooled my skin, soaked with sweat, and I looked down upon my body only to see unlike last time, I was clothed, sparsely as it was. My glamour was down, revealing the expanse of ink travelling down planes of my chest covered by a measly grey shirt, stomach and legs, only to show that some had been completely dissected. The days had blurred together, and I couldn’t recall the last time I was conscious or what they’d done to me. The only thing I could remember was pain, blinding, blood curdling pain. Images flashed in my mind of blades dancing across my skin as Amarantha tried to leech information from me about the Night Court, or being beaten within an inch of my life in the throne room when I’d bitten back a witty retort in my half-conscious state of mind. And through it all, those memories the female projected in my mind, almost like dreamscapes that I couldn’t escape where I saw Milo, Mama, my family—

A sharp blow across my cheek had me sagging on my side. “Wake up.” 

I knew the voice before I even saw her looming above me. Dressed in her usual attire of red and black combat leathers, she stared down at me from the side of the concrete block. Behind her, the black storm of smoke awaited to transport me. For once I was thankful for the bubble, because I wasn’t sure I could stand on my weak legs, never mind keep up with them. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a proper meal. The Attor, in Carrick’s form, waited behind it, his arms crossed over his chest, a faint amused smirk on his face. He seemed to prefer his High Fae form, but all it reminded me of was the blind betrayal of having him hold me at night and tell me he loved me. The thoughts sent chills across my skin. 

Arms shaking, I pushed myself to a sitting position and staggered to the clouds of smoke. I didn’t know why she needed it, as I was already weakened and couldn’t fire a shot of my magic if my life depended on it. Nonetheless, I stepped into the dark clouds and felt any hold of my magic be snuffed out by the ancient magic surrounding me. Amarantha’s smile curled brighter, and the gleam in her eyes sent a shudder down my spine. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. Carrick and Amarantha shared a glance before the red queen spoke.

“I think it’s time, my dear, to show you what we do around here, seeing as though you’re the most integral part of this entire movement.”

Confusion still wracked my brain. They hadn’t told me anything since I’d gotten here, only the wisps of truth Amarantha mentioned when I first met her with Rhys. Maybe if I had some information I could make myself useful and try to communicate back to the Night Court any way I could. 

The tunnels Under the Mountain were narrow but seemed to run for miles. Every bend led to new ones, and I could only imagine the complexity of the layout that Amarantha and Carrick seemed to know by heart. Distantly, I heard cries of pain and commanding barks and could only imagine what other sick things they were doing to the people trapped beneath here. As we meandered through the halls, the air grew damper, thicker, and I knew we were travelling further and further underground. Their footsteps finally slowed until we reached a wide, tall room. 

A stream ran straight through it, trickling slowly, the echo of the sound bouncing across the dirt walls. The floor, the walls, ceilings—it was all rock and compacted dirt, leaving a musty, dank smell in the air perfumed only by the stream’s water. In the centre, sitting right over the stream and connecting the two sides, was what looked like a sarcophagus. Tiny engravings covered the entirety of it in a language I couldn’t decipher. The air seemed fresher, in some way, than everywhere else Under the Mountain, and my skin crackled at the energy that plagued the room. Something… something about this place was different. Something sacred lied here, something that spoke to my very soul. 

“The Book of Breathings is a powerful thing. One that your mate’s family took for granted.” Those first cold words had me locked on her gaze. Amarantha wandered until she stood feet away from the tomb, staring down at it with amusement in her eyes. Carrick stayed by my side. I wasn’t sure if it for Amarantha’s sake or in case I collapsed, which was very likely. “When Hybern retrieved and had the contents deciphered, he made a back-up plan. If invading Prythian failed, if he couldn’t take down the mortal lands and the seven courts, then I was to be his successor.

“Everyone thought I’d died and that was the end of it.” She laughed and shook her head, softly tsk-ing. “No one noticed how the Attor preserved my body and brought it back to Hybern. He knew full well what the King’s plans were with the Cauldron, that I’d be back once more. As if that insolent mule could snuff me out with a flick of his rage.” I thought of my father and winced. “I was the first to be brought back, followed by Jurian, who was kept in the dark about my existence for my protection. Lord knows what that worm would do if he knew I was alive.”

Turning from the grave, she looked to me, and began approaching on slow, cat-like steps. The clouds around me trembled and my stomach dropped out from under me. 

“The Book had a prophecy. There was a destiny made for this land. It is Prythian’s sacred for a reason, starting for who’s laying in that tomb.”

My gaze darted towards it. Speaking for the first time in days, I asked with a croak, “Who?”

Her smile made my insides twist. “The Mother. This place, Under the Mountain, is the final resting place of the Mother.”

My eyes widened. The Mother, to me at least, had always been a spirit. Someone to pray to, a name I used as a curse, but never as a person to talk these lands. 

“As it was written in the Book of Breathings, the Mother and the Cauldron created the earth. She forged the seven courts of Prythian, divided them all and gave the Faeries their land to live before giving herself a final resting place beneath this mountain, to be untouched and unclaimed by any and all. But, there was one final spell put upon her grave should anyone be daring enough to attempt it. The wielder of this spell, if done correctly, would be granted complete control of the lands, the magic strong enough to make will bend to word.”

I didn’t even know if I was breathing. 

Amarantha sensed it too, because she smiled and leaned in until only inches separated our faces. “This land, Keorah, was made to be conquered. To be won. And I will do everything to get it.”

I blinked, still confused. “What is my role in all of this?”

“ _A child of all courts_ ,” Carrick recited, “ _rules the dagger of destruction and salvation. Blessed in the stream of eternal life, the slayer bends will of all Prythian_.” 

She sighed contentedly. “The spell goes on and on with the specifics, but the important part is you. You, Keorah, are no coincidence in the line of genes. Your bloodline has been bred specifically, generation after generation in preparation for this. _I_ bent Tamlin and Lyra to my will for you to be conceived once I knew the only court missing in your heritage was Spring. _I_ made sure that when you were born, you were truly a child of all courts. Your life, from the very beginning—even years before you were born—was mine to begin with. And now that the time has come to complete the Rite, you can’t even begin to understand how aggravating it was to have those abominable wastes of breath steal you away at the very last minute.”

The tears had come a while back. Amarantha only grinned devilishly. 

“You were the perfect specimen. Complacent, obedient, just like I forced Tamlin to make you become. If the Night Court hadn’t interfered when it did, it would’ve been so easy to break you.” With those words, she splayed her hand and a red bolt of magic came careening towards the centre of my chest. It knocked the wind out of me and sent spearing shards of pain all across my body. I fell to my knees within the bubble, its invisible floors cold against my palms and knees as I writhed in pain. Her laughter skittered across my bones as she watched me. After the wave subsided, I stood once more, though I had to catch myself before crumpling again. Carrick snorted, and I bit back a growl.

“In three days, you will perform the Rite,” she said it with absolute confidence. We were practically nose to nose. I knew that I myself couldn’t pass through the encasing smoke, but other things could pass to and fro. I took one look at her and her sneer. I would not single handedly enslave all of Prythian to the sickness that stood before me. 

With the rest of the swagger I could muster, I spit in her face. 

Carrick was there in an instant, his hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing hard. I clutched at his hand, scratching it until I felt the blood dripping down my fingers, but he didn’t relent, only squeezed harder. My lungs panicked and balked at the lack of oxygen.

“I will… fight you until my… last breath …you bitch.” Though they were gargled and choked, the snap in the words surprised even myself. All I could think of was my family, my mate, my court—I needed them safe. I needed to fight this. Carrick’s fingers squeezed one last time until he released me, and I sputtered and coughed until my breathing returned to normal. Blood stained my hands, but I didn’t care. In turn, it set a fire off in my head and heart, one that kept my limbs standing steely straight. 

Amarantha closed her eyes and let out a sigh, wiping at her face with the back of her sleeve. “You will find you regret the day you were born, my dear, once we are done with you.”

With that, she snapped her fingers and the bubble travelled on its own back through the caves and to my cell. I knew Carrick was following me, but I could only keep my gaze straight forward as the full weight of what she said fell upon my shoulders. And only once I was in my cell I was able to exit the clouds of smoke, and I numbly walked to the corner of the room and sank into the hay that I burst into sobs.

I must’ve fallen asleep in the corner of the room in my pile of hay, because when I awoke there was a bowl of slop waiting for me. I didn’t care what it was or the fact that I didn’t have any utensils. I just used my fingers and began shovelling it into my mouth. I’d tried to wipe away Carrick’s blood from my hands, but the essence of it remained. At this point, I couldn’t care less. It tasted ashen and metallic, and I gagged, but I forced myself to swallow it down, telling myself I’d need my strength. 

Once finished I slumped against the cold stone of the wall, closing my eyes. 

My whole life had been a lie. My whole life, I was a pawn. 

I was never supposed to be next in line for the throne. I was never supposed to even be a person, a member of society, only a lamb to be slaughtered. Three days…

I nearly choked when I realized when that was. My birthday. If I calculated right, then that would be right around my birthday, the Spring Equinox. The perfect day for any kind of Rite with the celestial energy in the air. 

There was never a purpose to my existence, and I had no idea how to wrap my head around that. 

I didn’t have time to, anyway, because a footsteps sounded through from the hall leading to my cell. I shrank away, trying to make myself as small as possible, and didn’t turn when the person crossed the threshold. 

“Keorah?”

I did turn, though, at the sound of his voice. 

For five seconds, Papa and I locked eyes. There was an unspoken tension in the room as I eyed him, but his eyes were filled with concern and…hope. What was going on?

Then he was kneeling at my side, pulling me into his chest, and my world tumbled in on itself all over again.

*

Instantly, I put a hand on his chest and peeled him away from me. My very skin cringed at the thought of my father giving me any kind of affection, nonetheless an embrace. I hadn’t felt his arms around me in a loving manner since I was a child. No, anytime he had his arms around me was just before he’d forced me to the ground to strike me. 

“Get off,” I breathed hard, my heart pounding in my ears. “Get off of me.”

“Keorah,” he said once more, those emerald green eyes searching mine for any hint of recognition. “Keke,” he tried again, and I recoiled at the name. Nobody ever called me that besides Mama and Vesna. 

“Get away from me!” I shrieked. All I could think of was his claws shredding down my back, my face, his fists as they plowed into my body—the complete and utter fury that contorted his features as I cowered in fear and pain whenever he loomed over me. The monster that haunted my nightmares; the monster that’d driven Mama to leave us. 

His face fell as he took in my horror. “She—she isn’t in my head anymore.” He said the words slowly, as though I was a child again learning the alphabet. “I’m free. She’s not in my head.”

“What the bloody hell are you saying?” I was braced in the corner of my cell, ready to run from him if need be. His chest was expanding and contracting quickly under the weight of his shock. My own breathing mirrored his. The male I’d been escaping for weeks was finally before me, making no move to harm me—but instead, embracing me? Trying to talk?

But there was something that snagged my attention—

_Complacent, obedient, just like I forced Tamlin to make you become._

_She’s out of my head._

_I’m free._

Was it possible that…?

No. My body shuddered at the thought.

“Keorah,” he whispered the words like a prayer, crouching down once more so I could meet his eyes. “Please listen to me.”

“Why should I?” I demanded. “What do I owe you after everything you’ve done to me?”

“It wasn’t me, Keke,” his voice was hoarse as tears slipped down his face. They took me so much by surprise that I couldn’t even speak. “She has been holding my mind captive all this time. Everything I did, everything I said…” he shuddered. “It was like my body was acting against me. I did everything I could to fight it off, to try to break past the spell, but my body obeyed her every word. All I could do was watch from the back of my mind.”

Then suddenly I was crying. 

“I loved Mama,” he choked on the words, “I don’t care if it was Amarantha forcing me to be with her for the bloodline. I loved Lyra, and I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. The entire world felt like it was collapsing in on itself as my father, the monster in my mind, suddenly was no more. “How the hell should I believe you?”

“Because if I was the male who nearly killed you in that dining room, then why would I try to reason with you now? Why would I apologize for all the abominable things I’ve done?” 

All my life, all I wanted was for him to say those words. All my life, all I wanted was my father to love me, to cherish me, to take care of me. To be a family. 

“Papa?” The word was no louder than a breath. 

“It’s me, Keke,” he said. “It’s me.”

This time, when he pulled me to his chest, I didn’t fight. 

*

“Get out of here.”

The voice jarred me from my sleep. It was Papa above me, his arms encircled around my body where he held me against him. I sat up straight, and Papa was already moving towards the doorway where Amarantha stood. He shot me a look over his shoulder, and I only gave a nod before I steeled my nerves and stood before the queen. 

“On the alter,” she said, pointing to the slab of concrete. I thought of the marks on my body, and what they’d made me see, and shook my head. 

“No. Absolutely not.”

She sighed. “They always prefer the hard way.” With a jerk of her head, the slave girl of days prior trudged into the room. Her gaze trained from her feet up to meet mine, and all it took was a narrowing of her eyes until I felt her talons scraping into my mind. 

I was powerless against the attack. With all my might, I shielded against her, trying to push out each of her talons, but they only gripped tighter until my legs were moving on their own and I was lying face up at the stone ceiling. Sweat collected on my brow as I struggled against her hold, but it was adamant against my measly attempts. 

The queen’s scarlet hair came into view as she smiled down at me from my peripheral vision. “Don't hold back this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the delayed update, I've been super busy but I have a few chapters lined up and the wait between chapters shouldn't be as long anymore!  
> Hopefully this chapter answered all your questions. As much as I try, I don't remember every detail from the acotar universe, and I am writing this half-asleep sometimes so there may be holes in my plot. If there are, please point them out!! I want to make the story as seamless and accurate as possible and I'd hate for a plot hole to take away from that.  
> Besides that, I truly hope you enjoy the story. Writing this has been so awesome, and I can't wait to share the rest with you.  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	3. Memories and Ambushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milo, angsty as always, finally figures out wtf is going on.

_CHAPTER 26_

 

Milo

The only obligations I lived under were to attend the meetings, eat meals and check at dawn and dusk to see if the Mountain’s shields dropped in any way. Either than that, the four walls of my room stood as a comfort to the numbness in my mind. 

I’d decided that I didn’t know what was worse: feeling everything, all at once, like the pain had been when it plagued me for the past decades, or having those feelings parched and shrivelled to leave room for the vast nothing infesting within each crevice of my mind. All thoughts were redirected to hints, clues, anything I could pick up on through the bond that could possibly lead me to my mate, yet each time, I came up dry. Nothing. No heartbeat, no thoughts, no emotions or scent or essence of her—simply silent, endless void. 

The silence became so loud my ears rang whenever I concentrated too hard on it. 

And, when I wasn’t surrounded by silence, but the customary scrape of fork against plate, I tried to summon the fucking thing to no avail. 

“We need you to be on speaking terms with us if we want to make any advancements on Amarantha, Milo.” Mum only stopped flinching at the sound of the name 3 days after the whole debacle. 

I said nothing and stabbed the brazed almond green beans with my fork. It seemed insulting to eat so finely knowing full well my mate was probably eating scraps, or worse, nothing. 

They’d grown accustomed to my silence or one worded, clipped responses, yet it seemed three days worth had started to finally be their tipping point. 

“The High Lord and Lady meeting is tomorrow. We need to present some sort of unity to rally them behind us. If we fall apart now, Milo, then we won’t make it through this.”

I didn’t need to glance up to my mother to know her eyes were ablaze with a fury she didn’t show often. Isra sat quietly to her left, between my mother and father, poking at the food on her plate. She wouldn’t be anywhere else but with them, surrounded by them, as if they could protect her from everything else beyond the four walls of the manor. I wished I could try to soothe her in some way, to rid her of the vile things she’s had to see in the last while, but knew there was nothing in my physical capabilities erase what’d been done. 

“Milo.” 

The sound of my father’s voice made me drag my eyes grudgingly to where he sat across from me. He hadn’t tried to speak to me since that day, and I’d made all attempts of avoiding his every move. Every time I looked at him I could only imagine the fear that my mate must’ve been feeling at this very second surrounded by her abusers, the people who’d tried to squash her her entire life, and the female that’d made Prythian a living hell on earth for five decades. Those thoughts made it difficult to do anything other than picture my hands wrapping around his throat. 

So I did something I knew would hurt him. “Rhysand.”

Mum looked like she was about explode. Isra flinched. Dad only swallowed hard and said. “Please. Just try to understand.”

“Alright,” I chuckled mirthlessly, the anger wrapping itself in a hot white knot around my heart, “make me understand. Make me understand what drove you to happily deliver her into enemy arms without a second thought. Make me understand how you couldn’t even be bothered to consult anybody else about this decision, not even me, her mate. Make me understand that, _Rhysand_ ,” I spat the word, “and maybe I’ll muster some of the respect I had for you that flew out the fucking window when you delivered my mate a death sentence.”

Isra was crying silent tears that flowed down her face like rivers. 

“It was Keorah’s _choice_ —” he began painfully.

“ _Don’t say her name_.” I stood brusquely from the table, pointing a finger at my father’s the face, all restraints trying to hold me back from causing him physical harm. “Don’t ever say her name.” I straightened my shirt, which had slipped as I myself slipped through the cracks of my sanity. “Don’t ever try to make me understand until it is mum that is locked away, Under the Mountain, in the captivity of those who are hell-bent on degrading and killing her. Not until you have to live not knowing whether she is dead or alive.” I clutched my chest, tears suddenly making my eyes cloudy. “ _I can’t feel her life’s essence anymore._ She is just as good as gone. So until it is mum that is lying somewhere bloody and dead and lifeless, don’t ever say a word to me about my mate again.”

With that, I pushed away from the table and stormed up the stairs without another word. 

*

Every evening at dusk, every morning at dawn, I winnowed to each court. I didn’t care about the physical toll it may’ve taken on my body. I went to each entrance to Under the Mountain, clawed and pushed and sobbed until I could take no more, and when I finally gathered myself and my strength, winnowed to Keorah’s bedroom in the Spring Court. There was no other way for me to be helpful. I asked Cassian and Azriel time and time again if they needed help with any tasks, if I could go up north and be stationed with Raph and Nya, yet each time they both answered the same: no. Stay with your family. Spend time with them while you can. 

As if I wanted to be anywhere near them at the moment. As if I could laugh and smile and rejoice in the little moments together without the feeling of my gut turning over thinking about my trapped mate. 

Keorah’s room laid in the same shambles I’d found it last. Tamlin must’ve wrecked it after his daughter was taken, for the curtains laid in shredded ribbons, the pillows, sheets and down-filled duvet were scattered across the room and her clothes had been emptied from her closet. It seemed so eerie here as the sun slowly sank below the horizon and the moon made its quiet creep into the sky, yet the only thing that made me feel a little more stable on my two feet was her scent. It had a grounding, calming effect on my being as I inhaled her scent of wildflowers, fresh grass, vanilla and roses. If I closed my eyes, it was like she was standing right in front of me. 

For the millionth time, I tried to fold myself within the pockets between the worlds with a set destination for Under the Mountain, but each time, there was a block. I entered that third space and there was nowhere to go, only void and smoke, until I gave in and returned to Keorah’s room. 

Sighing, I meandered over to her washroom and ran my fingers over her products and lotions lining the vanity. After eyeing a few of them, I pocketed things I thought she’d like, like lilac scented shampoo, chamomile body butter and the silk robe of the faintest shade of pink hanging off of the chair before her vanity. When I turned for the door, I paused. 

The softest, faintest brushing of a foot against carpet had me dropping the items on Keorah’s vanity. 

My Illyrian blade was drawn in a heartbeat, and I crept towards the door to the washroom, ears straining for each step the figure was taking. Whoever it was definitely wasn’t friendly or they would’ve made themselves heard. My breath rushed quietly through my lips as I tried to control my erratic breathing. Steel strengthened my muscles and bones as I crept around the door. 

As soon I saw the figure I dove first, asked questions later. 

Whoever it was was large and knew how to fight. A snarl sounded through the room as I brought my blade down upon their chest. They deflected the blow easily, yet missed my outstretched foot and fell to the floor. With another swing of my arm, my blade sunk into their flesh with a squishy thud, and my eyes finally labeled the person. 

Razor sharp beak. Eyes like pits, ears sticking up and out, nearly like a bats. One of the Attor’s cronies. 

Only they didn’t wince as I pulled out my blade from their flesh. They smiled, and it was my only warning before I turned and brought my blade upwards to meet a blow that would’ve definitely killed me. 

Once he lunged, I struck blindly after that. Instincts swept as I calculated the group of them amassed around me. They were half a dozen, a number that made me sweat with no one to cover me, yet I told myself that I was not going to die here, miserable and alone at the Attor’s hands before I got to see my mate alive and safe. 

My arms were burning beneath my leathers with the rush of adrenaline and barking of my muscles. Like death’s swift hand, I weaved through them on dancer’s feet, feigning left and darting right as I threw one of them off balance before plunging my sword into its back. Before I could even draw another breath, I’d yanked the piece out and swung it to the crony on my left, who’d already made a jab at my chest, and easily sliced right through his neck. His head hit the floor with a dull, squishing sound. 

It was like playing chicken as I stared at them. None made a move towards me, only snickered silently with each other. I decided to play their game. 

“Is it so dull under that mountain of yours that you seek entertainment in this abandoned playground?” I gestured lazily to the manor around us, infusing my voice with a lazy indifference my father and uncles had used timelessly over the years. 

“Your head is worth much to mistress, boy,” the centre one said. Its voice was like nails grating against each other. “What a fine price we’ll receive.”

“That sounds nice and all, but I like my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.” I made to step forward and slice all three at once, but its voice stopped me. 

“Too bad your mate can’t say the same.”

The words grounded me. It couldn’t be true. Absolutely not. 

The one on the right laughed. “You didn’t know? The red queen butchered her like cattle. All that remains is the husk, hung up on the wall like a hunter’s prize. Last time I heard, Lord Rieux was playing darts on her.”

My vision darkened at the edges. They were lying. I would’ve felt something. Surely, I would’ve felt something if she was dead.

“That was really the wrong thing to say.”

I did not hold back. I could’ve ended them with a flash of my magic, but I wanted to feel the life leave their bodies.

I didn’t hold back as I pierced each and every one of their abdomens, moving at the speed of light until my body barked in pain and I slowed myself. They were on the floor, each of them gasping for air and choking up blood, but that didn’t stop me. I began with the one in the centre. As though I were paring a fruit, I carved his body like a butcher, first cutting off its fingers one by one, then each of its limbs until the pain or the blood loss drained the life from him. The one on the left hadn’t made a bother and only earned a quick slash across the throat. 

The last one, though, the one who’d described in detail the events that’d transpired, him I had fun with. 

First was the fingers. Then the ears. And when that wasn’t enough, I sliced the skin of his face off strip by strip until his screams were like music.

I was not a killer, nor a torturer. Usually, I’d avoid it at all costs. But what they said, the abominations they thought of when I crossed the thresholds of their minds, when I saw the things they’d done in Hybern, during the Hybern wars, to my own people at the attack on Velaris all those years ago…there was no remorse in my heart. I swiped through their minds and found images from Under the Mountain. My heart soared with hope, yet all I saw were bleak halls, the throne room, deep underground tunnels, but no images of Amarantha or Keorah.

I kneeled on the floor, my clothes soaked in blood. My hair fell loosely around my face as I panted, muscles aching and tired from the rush of adrenaline. 

Keorah’s room was filled with gore. Blood lined the walls, bodies littered the floor. I choked on a sob as I pushed off and stood, blood soaking my hands. 

It was only when he stepped in the room did I realize he was even here. All of the sudden, the fatigue was gone, the pain erased. My eyes narrowed in on Carrick. Well, Carrick more or less. I knew it was the Attor’s skin prowling beneath as Azriel had told me days earlier. Not the Attor of my parents’ days, who was killed by mum in the battle of Velaris, but one his cronies that’d stepped up and took his title. My fist curled around the pommel of my blade anew, raised and ready to take one more life today. 

“Funny that you come to the room she and I had the most fun.” He chuckled, his fingers brushing over the wood of the door’s frame, sprinkling away the dust that amassed on his fingers. “She has such a beautiful body, that female of yours.”

I could already see his skin laying in ribbons. The sight of it was the only thing that made me able to grind out, “So she’s alive?”

“Of course she is. Alive and well. Perhaps maybe not _well_ , but alive definitely. My queen has special plans for her.” He smirked, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

“Name your price. Name anything, it’s yours. She is all I want.” I didn’t care what I needed to give or do, all I wanted, needed, was her safety. 

Carrick chuckled. This was not a violent visit on his behalf. He made no move to draw his sword or wield any magic against me, only leaned against the doorway. “There is nothing else we need, Milonius. You’ll understand eventually.”

I took several calm, even breaths. 

Then I was across the room, winnowing in the span of half a heart beat, my blade up against his neck. New blood trailed across my fingers as I held the blade to his throat and pulled his head back by his gold locks. “Take me to her. Right now. Mother knows your death will not be a burden on my conscience.”

He chuckled against the blade, not caring that it dug further into his skin. “You’re not getting anywhere near her, you mutt. This whole scheme was to take you out, but I guess the Heir to the Night Court is a little tougher than he seems. You really had me with that whole brooding act you loved to put on.” Before I knew it, he’d reached around and took the pommel of my blade, and before I could regain the upper hand, he wedged it into my left shoulder and snuck out of my hold. I grit my teeth against the pain and yanked the blade out. Carrick was steps away, and I knew he was about to winnow. With the rest of my remaining strength, I threw my mind towards his. 

It took a fraction of a breath to get past his mental shields and hold his mind. He stood, completely frozen, unable to move as I pilfered around until came the flood of memories: Amarantha’s death, the conservation of her body, her rebirth in the Cauldron at Hybern’s hand, being shipped off to sea with the new Attor and being implemented into the Spring Court as Nevanthi. Then further on, being with Keorah, reporting back to Nevanthi, capturing Keorah as she came back to the Spring Court. 

Keorah being beaten within inches of her life, on display for all to see. Being locked in a dark room with somebody holding their hands above her head, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her naked body wracked with new scars, bruises, burns—her tattoos decimated. Carrick squeezing her throat after she’d spit in Amarantha’s face. 

The story of Keorah’s life, how she’d been a pawn all along.

I watched them all, standing there for minutes as I relived them through the eyes of the Attor. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed until the sight made me so weak that the Actor pushed back against me until I was back in my body. With a furious snarl, he winnowed away. 

I stood there, breathless, unsure what hurt more: my bleeding shoulder, or the aching in my soul as those images of my mate flashed in my head, over and over again.

*

I descended with a thud in the middle of the kitchen. It was habit for members of the Inner Circle to drop in randomly with wounds. Mum learned the hard way to keep a first aid kit under the counter when Uncle Cass showed up with his ribs sticking out of a nasty gash in his side. 

No one was there as I held the two flaps of severed skin together. I could feel my magic rushing to fix the broken flesh, but I knew I’d either need stitches or mum to help me heal the damage. 

Honestly, after the conversation we had before, I think I preferred the stitches over speaking to them. 

I was already a few stitches in, gritting my teeth hard against the pain until quiet footsteps sounded at the kitchen’s entrance. I turned, praying to every god out there that it wasn’t dad, but my face fell as Isra watched me, her mouth open in shock. 

“Milo?” She wondered. Her voice was quiet but infused with terror. I could see in her expression she was about to start screaming for mum. 

“Isra. Isra, it’s okay. I’m okay. Come here.” I urged her. She didn’t take another step, only stared at where my fingers held the needle poised above my shoulder. My glamour was up, so she couldn’t see the scarred skin or tattoos beneath it, but the gory sight was enough to overturn anybody’s stomach. We’d learned how to stitch our own wounds on the battle field as Illyrian soldiers, but I only ever used that training for dire situations when I couldn’t heal of my own abilities. Already, the stitches acted as a catalyst and mended the flesh together. 

“Where were you? Who hurt you? Are we in danger?” Her questions were fired one after the other as she neared me, keeping a safe distance from the blood. My clothes, strewn on the counter, were stained with the stuff and the air reeked of metallic tang. “I’m getting mum and dad.”

“Isra, no. Do not tell them. Is anybody else around?”

“Azriel is with them.”

“Go get him. Don’t make it seem like anything’s wrong, tell him you want to show him something.” Without another protest, Isra bounded up the stairs.

I couldn’t stand the thought of mum and dad blubbering over me. They’d stand a lot better when I told them everything I knew tomorrow as my shoulder wasn’t spewing blood. The stitch refused to hold and I barked out a curse at my shaky hands. 

Footsteps rounded the corner, and Azriel only had to take one look at me before his hands swooped in and he began applying pressure on the wound. No concern or pity laced his features, only pure, lethal concentration. 

“What happened?”

“I was in the Spring Court at the manor. The Attor’s cronies ambushed me.”

His hands were shockingly steady as he guided the needle through the measly flesh. The pain was so brutal it all blended together and I couldn’t feel the pierce of the needle anymore, only feel the pressure with each suture. “How many?” 

“Six plus the Attor. He stayed in Carrick’s form, though. Seems to prefer it.”

Under his breath, Azriel mumbled, “Don’t blame him.” It brought a pained smile to my face. 

Isra cringed at the sight. I flashed her a smile of reassurance. “I’m alright. It’s fine.”

“He’s the one who got you, then?”

I nodded. “I had him in a choke hold but he got out and plunged my blade into my shoulder.”

Azriel paused, and I already knew what his next question was going to be. “Did he say anything? Show you anything?”

I gave a grim nod, then found myself at the exterior of Azriel’s mind. He let me in and there I showed him the images I saw in Carrick’s mind. Once I was done, I retreated, and the look on Azriel’s face was enough to have my stomach turning. 

“We need a meeting. Right now, so we can tell the other High Lords and Ladies tomorrow.” 

Though the thought of facing my parents seemed worse than another stab to my shoulder, I nodded. Azriel tied off the last stitch, meticulous and precise as the hands of a healer, then deposited the items into the first aid kit before padding back upstairs. Sighing, I leaned over the sink.

When Isra spoke, I almost jumped. I thought she’d left with our uncle. “They’re going to come for us next, aren’t they?” 

My heart jumped in my chest and I nearly choked. I quickly scrubbed the blood off my hands before leaning down to be level with my little sister. “We are not in danger. Whenever you are with me, whenever you are in this house, you are never in danger. I will never let _anything_ happen to you, Zaza. Ever.”

“I don’t mean me, I mean the rest of you. You keep saying that and you keep getting hurt.” The accusatory tone to her words and the broken expression on her face made my heart want to cave in on itself. I always seemed to forget how fast she was growing up with the violence she’d been raised with. It tore me to see the wetness in her eyes, and all I could do was cup her cheeks in my hands. They were warm beneath my touch, and a soft tear fell onto my palm but I brushed it away. 

“Zaza, you are the one person in the world I don’t lie to. Believe me when I say that you are safe. Every single person in this family will do everything in their power to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“I don’t _care_ about me,” she shouted, pushing her hands against my chest. I dropped my fingers from where they were, lips parted in confusion. “I don’t care about me. I care about you. You’re all…” she shuddered, and her cheeks heated as more tears ran down her face. “I don’t want to grow older without you. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Not even for me.” 

“I know,” I whispered, “I know. But we won’t let them do anything to you. Even if that means us…leaving.” I couldn’t say the word. I couldn’t say it. 

“Dying, you mean. I’m young, Milo, but I still understand.” Isra’s arms crossed over her chest. Her hair bobbed against her shoulders, and she stared defiantly at me when she said, “I understand more than you know.”

Isra had grown up too fast. This war, these conflicts and violence had rendered her into a five year old that could say the word dying without flinching. It made me want to tear the world to bits and start over again.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about this, okay? Don’t think about it. We are all going to be fine, and I’m saying that because I truly believe it.”

She still looked unconvinced, but let out a tiny, “Okay,” before spreading her arms. I enveloped her into my embrace and hefted her up, into my arms.

*

After tucking Isra into bed, I grabbed a shirt and headed into dad’s office where the rest of the Inner Circle had already gathered. Unlike other times, where we were only slightly concerned about the looming threat of the Spring Court, tension hung like a heavy curtain over my family as they sat quietly around dad’s meeting table. Maps, lists and other documents were strewn across, and I saw tokens representing the Night Court’s army and the path they were taking to arrive Under the Mountain. I swallowed hard when I looked at the trail wandering down the centre of the Day and Dawn Courts’ centres, thinking that if this meeting did not go well tomorrow, we were truly screwed. We needed their approval to march our army through, or else we’d have to winnow the entire bloody thing to the Dawn Court’s southern border. Not to mention that our troops compared to what Tamlin and Amarantha had amassed were like grains of sand on a beach. 

I sighed. As always, we were truly, utterly, royally fucked. 

My gaze flicked up to meet my father’s. His own was a dark mask, and he only met my eyes for a second before they darted towards Azriel. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Azriel looked at me pointedly. The rest of the Inner Circle turned to me, and I drew in a sharp breath. Everyone looked as though they hadn’t slept for days. Mor was wearing her usual hot pink pyjamas, meaning we’d probably interrupted her sleep, and the sorrow in her eyes was like a blow to the chest. Cassian only look angered as he had been the past few days. If he wasn’t up north coordinating with the troops, then he was in the courtyard pummelling the shit out of our dummies. He’d gone through a dozen of them, piled up in the stock room with their fluffy innards spilling all over the place. Even Amren, who always seemed vaguely disinterested in what we did, was a mask of sheer concentration hinted with the slightest worry. 

It was the sight of my mum that nearly brought me to my knees. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and I only now noticed the dark circles plaguing the skin beneath her eyes. Through my mask of anger, I hadn’t even considered the toll that our enemies and their plans were bringing down upon my family. 

Guilt festered itself within my chest and my throat, and I swallowed hard against it before saying, “I was in the Spring Court manor. The Attor’s cronies attacked me.”

Mum’s being shifted and dad put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from running to me. “What happened? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” I could tell dad was itching to ask the same things, to he himself run to my side, but the threat of this evening’s conversation kept him locked in place. 

I shook my head. “I’m fine. They nicked my shoulder. They’re all dead.”

“And the Attor? Was he there?”

I nodded and told them of what Carrick had said and how I’d taken care of the cronies. Unease elbowed its way into the room and only made everyone more morose as they stared at me. 

A shudder rocked through me, and I had to brace myself against the back of Cassian’s chair. “I broke into the Attor’s—Carrick’s—mind. I saw…” I swallowed hard again, not willing to revisit those images of my mate until I was alone in the darkness of my room. “This coup, this destruction, has been planned since the Hybern wars. Amarantha was the first person to be resurrected by the Cauldron.”

Everybody’s jaw dropped. Everybody except my father, who seemed as though he was about to be sick. 

“She’d been implemented into the Spring Court as a priestess and took hold of Tamlin’s mind using a spell of Hybern’s. Everything he’d done to Keorah, to Lyra…” I shook my head. It was nearly implausible to think about, but what I’d seen in Carrick’s mind must’ve been the truth. “It was all her. She’s been controlling him for the past seventy five years.”

It was Amren who interrupted first. Her mouth turned downward like she’d tasted something sour. “But why? What does she get in controlling him?”

That’s when things got complex. I explained the spell, the one that would make Amarantha the Queen of Prythian, how Keorah’s sacrifice is the last thing needed to complete the Rite, the importance of the location of Under the Mountain. When I mentioned the bit about the Mother, everyone balked. 

“Impossible.” Amren said. “That is impossible.”

“The tomb is there, Amren. I saw it through his mind.”

“It is a fake. There was no Mother.” She was adamant about this. I knew about Amren’s past, of her ancient form, but this went beyond her years. 

“You were not alive when the Cauldron was formed, Amren. Man and all beings were born of the Cauldron, but it was the Mother who forged it herself.” Azriel said it quietly, obviously just as blown away by the information as the rest of us. Amren settled back against the dossier of her chair, her eyes still stubborn and disbelieving. I couldn’t blame her.

Silence settled over the room like a blanket. Everyone looked at each other, but no one said anything. 

Finally, it was Cassian who turned to where I was standing. His eyes were wide and pleading when he said, “And Keorah?”

The name made my heart twist in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut. Through the tears in my throat, I managed to squeeze out, “They’re torturing her. They need her to do certain things in order for the spell to work, but she won’t obey unless they break her.”

“Has she…?” Mor couldn’t even finish the sentence. 

“No. She’s still holding on.” I smiled as I remembered the one memory of her in the pit of the mountain. “She spat in Amarantha’s face.”

Mum gave a wry, proud smile. Dad just looked solemnly at his feet, almost as though he was afraid to give any reaction. Probably because of what I’d told him this afternoon. 

A piece of me ached for him. Another couldn’t, wouldn’t forget what he’d done.

“The Rite is in three days. After tomorrow’s meeting, whatever the outcome is, we march.” 

“You have our word, Milo.” Dad said it carefully, but I levelled my gaze with his. “Tomorrow we march.”

*

A soft knock sounded at my door. The faelights had already been dimmed, and I was tousling my hair with a towel. Since the night at the cabin, I hadn’t been able to take a bath; to submerge myself within the waters. I was terrified as to what I might do, alone, with my dagger always within reach. So for now, I stood in the bath with a bucket and rinsed myself as best as I could, thinking I was a pathetic coward the entire time but at least I was a living pathetic coward. 

I owed it to her to stop. To try and push the habits away, to be better, because that’s what she would’ve wanted. 

“Come in,” I called as I pulled a shirt over my head. I turned, surprised to see that Isra’s head bobbed in, moving so quickly I couldn’t keep track of her until she was in my bed, nestled into the sheets. At the door, mum and dad stood there in their night clothes, and I stared blankly at them all. 

“What’s going on?” 

Mum swallowed hard and looked at dad carefully. His lips parted to say something, but Isra interjected, “They’re sending me away.”

My breath caught in my throat. “What?”

Mum sighed, then stepped into the room until she was perched on the side of the bed Isra laid. Dad stepped into the room carefully, hands in his pockets, gaze lowered. Mum said, “She can’t be anywhere near this. We won’t risk it.” A heavy breath released from her chest before she added, “We’re sending her to Montesere.”

I nearly choked. “Montesere? You think it’s wise to send her across the sea in the middle of this mess?”

“I will not take any chances.” Her voice sliced through the quiet night, and the burning look in my mother’s eyes made me want to take a step back. “Not with her, not with Nesta and her child. They both leave tomorrow.”

My face fell and I met Isra’s eyes which were filled with dread. I couldn’t stand the thought of having that much distance between us, but knowing that she was safe and away from the destruction that would inevitably ensue, it also took a weight off my chest. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Her voice was small and tore at my heart strings, and my throat thickened with tears. All I could do was nod my head. 

Dad made for the door, and Mum pushed off the bed from where she was perched, but something within me needed to stop them. 

“Wait.”

They turned, eyes full of questions. I swallowed against the lump in my throat. 

I’d thought about it in my makeshift bath, how everything had come together, how Keorah had left. If Amarantha was going to do anything to get Keorah back, then I wouldn’t put it past her to have invaded the Night Court. To have attacked, brutally ravished the lands I called my home, and in turn hurt the civilians, the innocents, and my family. No matter what, she would’ve gotten her way; I was sure of it. In the end, Keorah would’ve ended up Under the Mountain. 

I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for how selfless my mate was, or angered by the fact she hadn’t consulted me before leaving, but I knew that if I were in her place, I would’ve done the same thing. 

And I would’ve wanted somebody like my father there with me in those final moments. 

“Stay. For a while.”

Because no matter what’d happened between us, no matter the complicated knots in our relationship, they were still my parents. If anything happened to them, to any of us, during this war… I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself for not spending more time with them in the moments I could. 

Mum’s smile made my chest warm as she ran and jumped into the bed, causing the entire thing to shake and send Isra into a fit of giggles. Dad’s face lit with admiration as he watched us all. 

I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. But I put a pause on whatever was in-between us and patted the space beside me. His eyes swelled with tears and he blinked several times before padding over and settling in beside me. 

“Mum, do the duck thing.”

“Oh, Isra please no—”

“Do the duck thing!”

I hadn’t heard of such thing and looked at my mother questioningly. Sighing, mum took a deep breath in until her face morphed and transformed until low and behold, her mouth was replaced by a duck beak. 

The sound of my family’s collective laughter was the sweetest sonata I’d ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Decided to update again because of the longer gap last time. I've brainstormed the entire ending, so hopefully this will all be up by the end of June! Thanks once again for your kudos and kind words, they mean everything!  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	4. Dispute and Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More meetings for the son of Night.

Milo

“I won’t let anybody even look at her wrong.”

Nesta’s words lessened the weight on my chest as I stared at Isra, clad in her fur coat, supporting only a suitcase in on hand and her favourite plush toy of a star with eyes and a face on it. Azriel had gotten it for her when she was born, and she took it every where with her ever since. 

All I could do was stare at my little sister for as long as I could. Mum and dad were kneeling beside her, and I could tell mum was trying not to cry only for Isra’s sake. All dad had the strength to do was hug Isra to his chest as mum smoothed down her hair. 

Once they were done, I crouched before Isra and cupped her cheeks in my hands. “This isn’t a goodbye, okay? I’ll see you in a few days.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes, so I tilted her chin up towards me. “We’ll _all_ see you in a few days.” With that, she threw her arms around me and I squeezed her tight against me. 

“I love you, Milo.” The words were choked in my ear. 

“I love you Zaza. Be brave.”

I set her down. Cassian kissed his mate, and Nesta blinked furiously as he leaned down and kissed the flesh of her stomach.

Nesta looked up to the rest of us. “Don’t you dare let him be idiotic. Keep him in line.” She pointed to Cassian. “If you die, I will resurrect you from the Cauldron myself just to kill you all over again.”

Cassian only gave her a watery smile. “I love you too, dear.”

She pressed one more kiss to his lips then put her hand on Isra’s shoulder. Mor stepped forward, took both of their hands and winnowed them away to the eastern port. 

Silence blanketed us all until Mor returned. This time, there was no need for grander. Instead of gowns we wore combat leathers, because no matter the outcome, dad promised me we’d take the Illyrian troops and march them south. They were already trekking from their Northern camps through the centre of Night Court territory where we’d meet them this afternoon with more troops to join us, should everything go right. 

My skin was itching to leave now. To damn the meeting and head south on my own. I’d walk straight through the front door of Under the Mountain at this point if only to close the distance between Keorah and I. 

Mor reappeared. With a single, stern nod, she confirmed the deed was done. Uncle Azriel kissed aunt Elain’s cheek before he stepped forward to grip Mor’s arms. Uncle Cassian set a hand on Feyre’s shoulder, and Amren, standing at Elain’s side, only looked to my dad with her piercing, grey eyes.

“The city’s in your hands.” He murmured the words. 

Amren merely nodded. “With our lives, my Lord.” Elain echoed the words, though there was fear in her eyes. I couldn’t blame her. We were walking into land that hadn’t been revisited by the citizens of Prythian for decades. At least, not willingly.

We all looked around at each other silently, basking in the last few moments of peace we’d have before disappearing into the void between the worlds. 

The dawn court wasn’t as fantastical the second time around. Not when my mind was focused solely on the doors ahead and the truths I’d need to lay out before them in order to gain their trust and lead them into this battle. Despite my failings every step of the way, despite all that had gone wrong in the fight for Keorah’s freedom, this time, I would not take no for an answer. This time, they would listen. 

I would make them listen. 

I did not look to the High Lords and High Ladies. Even when their chatter faded and the only sound to be heard was the soft morning breeze beating against the gauzy, white curtains, I remained silent, jaw locked. The rest of the Inner Circle sat in the provided chairs, waiting for me to make the first move. 

Today was me. Only me. A test, of sorts, but also because they knew I would speak from my heart, that I would tell the truth. 

Finally, my eyes skirted around the room and met with each of leaders of Prythian. There was no room for tiptoeing today; I aimed with bluntness. “Amarantha is alive.”

That statement alone was enough to leech all warmth from the room. The birds’ chirping seemed to grow silent, even the clouds around us grew greyer as the full weight of what I said settled in. 

It was Tarquin who first spoke, his face pale and gaunt. “Impossible.”

“Rhysand, you have been weaving a lot of interesting stories recently,” Hellion added. Dad only sent him a cold, dark look that promised him this was indeed no ‘story’. 

My family did not step in. Only looked to me, and so I proceeded to recount once again the story of Amarantha’s uprising. With each detail, their faces grew more sinister, more pained, as if the reality of it all finally settled itself upon their shoulders. Once I finished, I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. When my eyes darted around the room, it seemed as though everyone had aged a few decades.

Eris spat, “I won’t be fed lies, Rhysand. This has got to be the sickest thing you’ve ever conjured.”

Cassian flinched, looking as though he was ready to send a spear straight for the male’s heart. Mum only blanched and crushed dad’s hand in her own, and Mor was doing everything not to burst with a string of words that would likely set this room on fire. Azriel was trying to keep his mask of control—but if the High Lord of the Autumn Court spoke again in such a way, he would likely find himself without a head if he wasn’t careful.

Dad’s eyes roamed slowly over to Eris’s, his gaze slicing through the other male’s with enough wrath behind it to send a tremor down my spine. “I would rather relive the torture I endured during the Great War for the rest of my life than face that woman again, Eris.” Smoke, darkness and shadows curled around my father’s shoulders. “Do not think we say these things lightly.”

“I am done with your nonsense. I don’t care of your dramatics, of your court, of any you.”

“What about Prythian?” I demanded. “What about your title? Because I assure you, if Amarantha succeeds in what she has planned, then those things will be torn away from you in a heartbeat.”

“What makes you so certain?” The bite in his words previously would’ve sent my blood singing. But this time, I kept calm. This time, I only took on assertive breath. 

“There is a reason why the Spring Court wanted Keorah back so badly. It was not Tamlin behind the chaos of it all. It was Amarantha, acting as his High Priestess, who demanded she be returned.”

“She isn’t at the Night Court?” Lucien was the one to wonder, worry sketched into the lines of his face. I shook my head, then looked to dad. He needed to step in, to explain what’d happened that fateful day. 

If I thought what was said before about Amarantha had shocked them, the curse, the tale of the Mother’s tomb and what was to be done to Keorah to sacrifice… that was what made them drop their masks. To realize that this situation was so complex, not even we could’ve conjured such atrocities. 

It was Hellion who said, “It is true. The final resting place of the Mother dwells within Prythian’s sacred mountain.”

All gazes whipped toward the dark-skinned male, who’s face was grim and gaunt in the light of the revelations. It made sense that the City of One Thousand Libraries would be home to the ancient texts that held this evidence. 

That contained the secrets of Prythian better kept unknown, for fear of those who would use them to their own gain. Like the red-headed monstrosity planning to overthrow us all. 

I refused that outcome. Not only did I refuse to let Prythian fall to her hands, but moreover, to let my mate be sacrificed in the name of evil and malice. A life wasted on such an abuse of power. 

“And how do you fit into all of this?” It was High Lady Vivianne who demanded it, her pale, watery brown eyes meeting mine. They were filled with remorse, probably with the realization that her initial vote to return Keorah to Tamlin had damned Keorah in the process. Not knowing the horrors she’d displayed were true, or what was indeed coming to us all with Amarantha’s uprising. 

The last resort I had, the last card I had to play in order to sway them, was playing the desperate fool in love. Though it felt like I was bearing my soul to them, my lips parted and my tongue spoke of its own accord when I said, “Keorah is my mate.” 

“Oh Cauldron, pass me the tissues,” Eris grumbled under his breath. I paid no heed to him. He was a miserable, miserable male that would meet his deserving end soon enough.

“The second we walk out of this room, our forces are ready to march south. If you won’t contribute to the battle, then at least give us permission to pass through your lands. Because no matter what you all say, no matter what decision you take, we will fight. We will fight for our court, for our freedom, for our people, for my mate.” My breath hitched on the word as those images I’d seen in Carrick’s mind flashed through my head. “For Prythian.”

“As inspiring as that sounded, boy, I will not spare my forces on hypotheticals. I will not spare my forces on guessing games and the supposed, so you do not have my contribution.” He stood roughly from the table, the two members of his court, his other brothers, standing with them. “And the rest of you are fools if you think this blithering idiot has anything but his own cock in his best interests.”

I did not know who did it. 

I did not know where the shot came from, not as all three brothers were knocked swiftly off of their feet and found themselves trapped beneath the surface of the reflecting ponds at either sides of the gathering room. Their eyes were wide, mouths puffed with their last breaths as they pounded at the surface of the water, begging somebody, anybody to let them out. 

Yet when I looked to my court, they said nothing. Only stared at Mor, who was appreciating the scene before her, arms crossed at her chest. 

The other High Lords and Ladies said nothing. Nothing as they pounded, then screamed for somebody to set them free. Even Eris’s power could not overtake Mor’s, who’s been honing this final blow for centuries. And so she waited. 

Waited, and waited, until I completely believed they’d met their end. And only when they were on the brink of losing consciousness, when their final breaths were choked away by the once calm waters, did that barrier break, and their bodies were launched onto the cold tiles of the meeting room. 

Their sputters and coughs were drowned out by Lucien saying, “I’ve been waiting for somebody to shut him up for three centuries.”

“You’re welcome.” Mor said sweetly. I only smirked, knowing full well what’d been done to my aunt at the hands of that cruel male, and knowing full well he deserved everything that was coming to him. He’d tried redemption after the Hybern wars. Tried to weave up some sob story how his hand had been forced, that he had no way of saving Mor from what’d been done to her; was forced to leave her in the woods as she slowly bled out and the life was leeched from her one painful second at a time. Once he’d finished, Mor had only taken one look at the male before spitting that if he had any ounce of honour or morals within him, he would’ve damned the consequences, as any good male would’ve done. He only sneered and said she wasn’t worth it anyway. 

And so, the sight before me was a heart-warming one. Though it should’ve scared me that I was taking more delight then usual in blood shed, I ignored those voices at the back of my head. Better to let the anger fester and fill that void within me than sit in the vile silence threatening to ruin me completely. 

“You’re all dead,” Eris choked out, staring up at my family and I. “You and your entire retched court.”

They stood to make the walk to the winnowing platform and I barked at him, “You’re a hateful coward.”

He only threw a vulgar gesture over his shoulder before the three of them reached the platform and vanished to smoke. 

I was surprised no one else had made a move to save Eris, but thought that they had better ties with us than the Autumn Court, and knew the gist of the tangled history between us. That whatever we did to Eris was most likely well-deserved. If I knew any better, I could’ve sworn that Kallias was grinning. 

“We’ll fight.” Hellion was the first to offer up. “My army is yours. On the short side as it may be, there are very powerful spell weavers amongst them. Any wards or blockades… _she_ may have put up—”

“Amarantha,” Mum said, the word full of hatred and fury. “Let’s not dance around it. She’s alive.”

Hellion nodded and took a breath before saying, “Any spell Amarantha may have put up, they can get past them.”

I only nodded. 

Everyone else chimed in similarly. My heart swelled within my chest, and I realized that that was hope. For the first time in a while, after all the setbacks we’d undergone, I finally felt…hope. 

It was Thesan who only ground his teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw as his smooth voice announced, “I will spare you an aerial battalion. You have full permission to pass through my lands, but I will keep my resources for my people. Should anything go wrong, this court is open to all who seek refuge.”

Dad nodded briskly. “We don’t know what we’re walking into. Our forces haven’t been able anywhere near the mountain; the wards are too thick and complex for them to work around. We’ll only know once we’re there.”

No plan. No idea what to expect. We were going into this fully blind, and though it scared me half to death, I thought there was no other way; no other alternative. We had three days to get there and try to stop her. 

And we weren’t going to fail. 

*

Cassian

It’d been a long, long while since Cassian had taken arms with his brothers. 

During the Hybern wars, when he’d fought and bled and killed for all his worth, he thought it would be the last battle for a little while as peace reigned across the territory. But now, only seventy five or so years later, death came knocking at their door once more. 

This time, the stakes were so, so much higher. This time, they were going in completely blind. With four court’s worth of army at their backs, they prepared for anything as they marched through the Day Court’s lands, the hot sun dry and parching as it beat down on them. The Day Court’s lands were mostly prairies, and the main arterial road dissecting the territory was bordered by miles and miles of wheat fields. Farmers in those fields gave weary gazes as the Night Court passed through, yet gave nods of understanding nonetheless. 

On such short notice, they’d only been able to round up around 800 men—many more than originally anticipated, enough to bring down the Spring Court’s armies, but they never knew what else would await them once they arrived Under the Mountain. Hybern’s forces, Amarantha’s forces—they could be anywhere, waiting to attack. 

Winter and Summer’s forces were already making the trek north, and Helion’s small legion followed the rear of the advancing Illyrians. Two patrols were stationed in the sky, one in front analyzing the horizons, scouting for threats—the other bringing in the rear, keeping surveillance over either flanks. All were supposed to convene once they met Under the Mountain, lest any surprises appeared along the way. 

Nesta had given him direct orders: do not die. Of course, he wished to respect it, to be alive once this battle was over and be reunited with his mate and unborn child—but Rhys had also given him orders. Orders that he was not to disobey under any, any circumstances. 

Keep Milo and Keorah alive. Get them out, and alive, no matter the circumstances. 

Rhys had bled and died and whored himself out to keep them _all_ alive, to keep them _all_ safe from evil. Though he loved his mate more than anything he’d ever loved in his immortal existence, his duty was to his High Lord. 

Besides, Cassian had faith. Despite all that had gone wrong every step of the way, besides the twists and turns, ups and downs they’d encountered at every which corner, they’d made it out. They’d found solutions, they’d found the light in the dark. Cassian was a strong believer in good happening to those who do good, and he’d like to think he was one of those people. 

It was usually a three day walk to get from the Night Court to Under the Mountain, but the High Fae who could winnow volunteered to help transport most of the Illyrians to Day Court’s southern border where they’d met Helion’s forces. This had cut their travel time nearly in half, and though Feyre, Mor and Rhys and many others were exhausted where they rode on horseback twenty feet behind him, it was the only way they’d make it in time to form a sufficient plan of attack and respect Amarantha’s deadline. 

Up ahead, Oris, Raphael and Nyana treaded along with their packs on their shoulders and weapons strapped to their thighs. Nyana must’ve said something to make Oris laugh because the male tipped his head back and let out a gleeful, loud chuckle then shoved her playfully. Cassian smiled, heart content knowing that even amongst the darkness and looming danger that pressed down against them, they were still able to find light and humour despite it. 

His eyes scanned the males and females before him until they settled upon Milo. His nephew was watching the trio from afar, a frown of utter distaste upon his lips. Cassian only blinked. Oris used to be one of Milo’s closest friends when they were younger. Yet the past two weeks, whenever they were near each other, Milo looked like he was going to implode. 

Az had told him as much that Milo was hiding something. Something that’d happened between the two years and years ago, something Milo had never let go of. Though he hated to overstep his boundaries, it was only another task his High Lord had asked of him: find out anything he could of Milo’s current state of mind. Rhys and Milo were still on the rocks, so Rhys felt best that Cassian and Azriel try to handle the issue. Behind closed doors, when Rhys had dispatched his final orders the night before the meeting, his High Lord had told him of Keorah’s final concerns she’d voiced before Amarantha had appeared. That Milo was not okay, and that she was afraid of measures he’d take because of it.

They’d all known for a while now. Known, but did not know how to broach the situation. How to talk to Milo, who refused at every opportunity, who’d shut himself out at the time he was most vulnerable. 

Cassian took one more look to his nephew, who’s face had quickly morphed into quiet desperation. And he knew that he’d do anything in his capability to wash it away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so a-wol! I'm currently at my cottage without wifi and will be posting scarcely. Hope you're still enjoying this!  
> Have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	5. Destruction and Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah succumbs to her mind.

Keorah

“You’re going to love the honeymoon.” 

I rolled my eyes at my mate, fingers reaching to my left fourth finger of their own accord to fiddle at the harp string tied there. We hadn’t bothered for any other finer jewelry when what he’d given me put a smile every time I looked down at it. And when I looked back up into Carrick’s warm, hazel eyes, that warmth spread to my chest like it did every time. Especially in the late afternoon sun, when the light caught the blonde in his sandy hair and sent it glinting like honey. We always preferred the library for its silence, how it wrapped around us and made us feel like the rest of the world was far, far away packed between the pages of the ancient books that surrounded us. My legs rested in his lap as my fingertips brushed at the locks of stray hair around his temples. 

“You know I don’t care where we go. I’d be perfectly content with some inn on the coast.”

“Whatever inn you’re picturing is definitely not big enough to contain the sounds we’ll make.”

My toes curled in my sandals, and just the look he gave me set my blood on fire. I reached over and firmly grabbed his cheeks in my hands before fitting my mouth to his, a slow, soul-binding kiss that reached down to my very core. In a few days, I’d call him my husband. And this fantasy, this life we’d created together, would be eternal. 

Though at first, when we were only children, it seemed forced by Papa, by his family: the monthly visits, the training together, the lessons and endless bickering that would occur in the moments between, but as we grew older, we found ourselves filled with pent up wanting. I’d hid it until I was bursting at the seams, until I could no longer hide what’d been growing within me since I first laid eyes on him. 

Carrick, my mate. The most beautiful male I’d ever seen. The male who’d stolen my heart, who’d made me whole after Mama’s death—and what… _he’d_ done—broke me. Who only brushed his fingers against my smooth skin and set me on fire. 

He pulled away, panting, and I found my heart thundering in my chest. Yes, an inn would not suffice that night. 

“I just remembered,” he said, his arms hooking around the back of my legs as I straddled him on the chaise, “that your father wanted to invite the—the Night Court.” He stumbled on the last two words, likely because he knew the effect they had on me. 

My throat went dry. The ground felt like it was going to fall out from underneath me. 

After all they had done to me—after all _Milo_ had done to me, I was completely content with never seeing them for the rest of my existence. 

I could still feel his piercing gaze as he’d unleashed those claws upon me. During the few months we’d been together, before I felt what I did for Carrick, things seemed so wonderful. I thought he’d loved me until he’d hurt me. Until the love turned to a hatred and possessiveness so deep he’d nearly wrecked me. 

I couldn’t even think his name without shuddering. 

Carrick’s thumbs brushed the space beneath my eyes. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he murmured, “Don’t cry, my love. I told him no. There’ll be no reminders of what that swine put you through.”

I nodded roughly then stared down at my mate before bringing my lips to his once more. 

*

Waking sleeping waking sleeping—

There was no difference anymore. Time stretched thin and taut, like an elastic, and moments underneath blurred into moments above, though I could no longer discern the line that differentiated the two. 

A monster and an angel and a demon and a saint—

Real and not real. Dreaming, awake, nightmares, consciousness—deep, full breaths. Faces I knew, faces I recognized, faces I loved and hated. 

Minutes, hours, years—

I spent years. I _aged_ years. Until I didn’t know what was childhood and what was falsehood, until I was tripping over centuries of written or unwritten or dreamt history—

Real. Not real. Real. Not real. 

I looked up at the emerald eyes, the rugged blonde hair hanging in tangles above me. The man, my father I knew, looked as though he was bathing in despair, but I knew better than to trust emotions. Like the dreams, the nightmares—the truth?—they were just images to be warped and seen by my deceiving eyes. 

“Keorah, look at me,” the voice ordered. 

But I could only blink up at him. “Real or not real?”

I asked the question, though I didn’t know if I was awake or asleep. I didn’t know what either of the two meant anymore. I no longer saw darkness when I closed my eyes, but memories, my life, deception, clarity. 

With no way of knowing which was which. 

“Real,” he said. “Real. It’s me, Keke.”

“That’s what he says. That’s what they all say.”

*

Tamlin

Roaming these halls was visiting a deep, dark part of himself that he’d never thought he’d had to revisit again. 

That was, at least, until the same vile bitch queen took hold of his mind nearly six decades ago. Without so much as any warning signs or detections of her magic, she was plaguing his life, his lands, his mind once more, and this time, he’d been completely immune to fight back. A prisoner within his own mind, unable to think, speak, act for himself. The spell was leashed tightly to Amarantha’s will, and every action and reaction with others was meant for him to be painted as a cold, self-centred angered male. The poster child of corruption, misogyny and temper. 

He’d been forced to watch for years on end as he abused the love of his life and his only precious child, with whom he was allowed to be warm with during childhood, then play the role of the monster as she aged. She was the epitome of light, of beauty, of strength, and his role in Amarantha’s plan was to break her. Make her tame. Make her seem weak, and incapable, so when the day came that Amarantha would rise again there would be no flare left within her to fight back. 

She’d taken away every freedoms possible at Keorah’s dispense: her title, her dignity, her confidence, her wings. 

Lyra had lost her wings in a brutal, gruesome form of torture during the Hybern wars when one of them had kidnapped her and needed answers on the army’s movements. Nothing had broken her until they threatened to cut them off. She’d balked, and fought and cursed them all, but they’d shredded them nonetheless. 

Her revenge was swift when she decimated them for all they were worth when she once again met them on the battlefield, at the final battle of Hybern. 

Since those days, she’d never once spoken of them. She’d never mentioned them, even to Keorah. And so when Keorah was born with those same wings, it was Nevanthi, Amarantha, present in the room that day when Lyra gave birth. It was Nevanthi who first examined the child while Lyra was distressed, exhausted and distracted after childbirth, then decided to hide those same wings with a concealment spell, unknown to all but Tamlin, who’d let her perform it willingly.

He shuddered at the thought of his wife’s smile, the way it crinkled her blue quartz eyes, how beautiful and vibrant and full of life she’d once been. Before Amarantha had slithered back into their lives and doomed them to an eternity of misery.

Lyra was always meant to die. Amarantha was going to kill her one way or another before the Rite took place, but in an accidental manner similar to the lies they’d spread to the other courts. So when she was found, dead at her own hand… 

It was enough to shatter Tamlin. To hate the person he’d been forced to become, the person he whole-heartedly knew had pushed Lyra and his daughter over the edge. To give up completely, knowing that Amarantha would accomplish what she’d set out to do and ruin the lands, the territory he’d called home his entire life. 

That was, until the Night Court came. Until they nearly single-handedly saved his daughter, stolen her away from the manor. Keorah was on the brink of death, but would’ve been healed quickly once the dust cleared away. Amarantha had needed her broken, but still alive. Yet, that day, the spell binding his will had loosened. He’d fought for all his worth against the instincts that’d roared at him to kill Feyre as she held his daughter in her arms, to lunge at her and take Keorah back. But he’d stood there, forcing his body to stand still. Crying out on the inside at the blessing he’d been offered, that hopefully away from the Spring Court, she would finally be safe. 

And now, it was such a mess. Such a great, big, fucking mess, because nobody stood outside that mountain, ready to storm from within. Rhysand had seen Amarantha, he knew the threat she posed, yet no one else would believe him; Tamlin was nearly sure of it. Not after the first High Lord and High Lady meeting when they’d all practically spat in his face and called him a liar. There would be no salvation from this, not for him nor his daughter. 

Which meant it was up to them to put an end to Amarantha’s plan. 

Tamlin had a stupid, crazy plan. One that would get them both killed.

But at least their lives would be given to the greater good of the people beyond this mountain, and the rest of Prythian could potentially stand a chance. That was if Keorah ever saw past the visions. 

Before he was dragged away to his cell, he saw the female prisoner poised to assault her mind. He saw how Keorah laid there, prostrate, unable to help herself as the woman held her hands still and wove her magic within the fibres of Keorah’s mind. 

Tamlin was the least of Amarantha’s concerns at the moment, as she was caught up with the preparations for the Rite, which mainly included Keorah. This meant the leash she’d kept on Tamlin had loosened. He was cloistered in his cell most of the time, yes, but she allowed him to exit for meals and of course whenever she requested his…services. 

She’d made him service her so many times over the years in the Spring Court against his will that doing so again when the spell was lifted did not irk him. Drained him, demeaned him, made him sick to his stomach, yes. But he would stand it if only to remain in her good graces and distract her for a little while. This gave him the liberty to ask questions, and what she’d answered made his skin crawl. 

The female prisoner was rewriting Keorah’s life. Erasing her past memories, making them seem like falsities as she implemented a new storyline, making Amarantha seem like a saint, somebody she trusted and listened to, all in the means of completing the last few tasks Amarantha needed. That’s why she was so disoriented when he’d visited her the day before, why she couldn’t discern the truth from the lies.

Tamlin knew what Keorah had to do. And he knew that, should she be of sound mind, there was no way she’d go through with it. But now, with her mind in shambles…

There was no telling what state Keorah was in. What she was capable of. 

It was two days before the Rite, just as the mountain servants began their daily tasks that Tamlin woke, a sneer on his face as he tossed the queen’s red hair away from where it lay on his shoulder. He wished he could strangle her, right then and there, but there were so many wards against him that it would just be a waste of breath. 

Silently, he slipped out from between the sheets, tugging his trousers and tunic on before exiting with the silent click of the door. 

No one paid him heed as he strolled through the dark halls of the mountain. The last time he’d been here, he was kept in his quarters with no liberties whatsoever, under constant watch of Amarantha’s guards, unable even to breathe wrong for fear of what message it would send to her. The fear that’d strangled him then of losing Feyre nearly tore his soul apart the three months they were stuck under here. 

He shook his head. He was a coward, then. A snivelling, scared little boy, unable to fight for himself. Once he’d seen the dark in what he’d done to Feyre, what he’d done to Prythian through trusting Hybern, he’d been trying to erase those parts of himself. Lyra had helped, Lyra had soothed his anger and found him ways to cope, but now…

He couldn’t think of her without his chest hurting, and the pain threatening to consume him whole. Tamlin only trudged forward, and sighed in relief when he found his daughter sleeping, peaceful, unaccompanied by the female weaving her daemati magic. 

The cave was dimly lit by torches and faelights, and it was damp, dank from being so far beneath the earth’s surface. Nothing like down in the burrows where the Mother’s tomb was, but enough so that Tamlin’s skin felt damp. In the corner laid the small pile of hay, where he’d been able to hold his daughter, something he hadn’t done in years. 

He gazed down at her, and it was like the earth fell away from beneath him. 

Keorah had her mother’s shining, stark hair, peppered with his rich honey blond locks. She’d always worn it long, even fought him and Lyra off when she was a child and they’d come near her with scissors. She said she wanted to be like a princess, and whenever they’d go on walks through the meadows she’d pick flowers and weave them into her braided hair. Yes, Keorah had Lyra’s delicate features and her narrow, slight nose and high cheekbones. But she had Tamlin’s eyes, bright green emeralds flecked with gold and bronze. 

Tamlin’s knees nearly gave out every time he took in the damage he’d done to his daughter’s body over the years. The slash across her face, the scars upon her chest, her legs, her back. He’d given those to her mirthlessly, had degraded her through lashings and punishments and outbursts of anger, all in the name of breaking her spirit. 

The pained, terrified look she gave him during those moments would forever scar his heart. 

Yet now, the evidence of the carnage was gone. Erased. They’d probably brought in expert healers and completely renewed her skin, leaving it bare and smooth as the day she was born. To erase what I’d done to her, to erase the achingly beautiful tattoos she’d gotten to move past the pain I’d inflicted upon her. Another way of erasing her past, of breaking her soul: cleansing it of the pain, and in turn, cleansing it of the strength she had to surpass it.

Tamlin didn’t even realize he was crying until Keorah’s measly shirt was speckled with water stains. 

He sat on the edge of the stone altar and carefully scooped his daughter’s body into his arms. She stirred slightly, eyes groggy and sleep ridden, not quite focusing on his. 

“Keorah?” He murmured gently, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She blinked, once, twice, before looking around the room. 

“Where’s Carrick? And aunt Am?”

Tamlin swallowed hard, the full brunt of the words hitting him. “Aunt Am?”

“Amarantha,” she said slowly. “I need to see her. She has something for me to do.”

“Keorah,” he whispered sinisterly. “Keorah, it’s not real. What the prisoner showed you wasn’t real. This is real.” Tamlin took his daughter’s hand and placed it against his cheek. “I’m real. You’re Under the Mountain.”

“I know where I am,” she bit back, snatching her hand away. She scrambled out of Tamlin’s arms and stood, bracing herself with one hand against the stone. As she heaved shallow, uneven breaths, her words were uncertain when she said, “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“What about Milo? What about saving Prythian?”

“ _Don’t say his name_.”

So they’d woven lies around the boy. Probably to block out their relationship, to repeal everything that’d happened in the Night Court. 

“Milo is your husband. He is your _mate_.” Tamlin hadn’t fully let his mind wrap around those facts when Keorah told him of her mate, but he was glad that she’d found someone she could confide in; someone who understood her pain and helped her grow past it. He only prayed she’d be able to return to him unscathed, though he knew the chances were dimming by the minute. “You love him. You gave up _everything_ to save him, his family, his court.”

“Shut your mouth!” She screeched. Her eyes glowed with an anger Tamlin had never once witnessed from his daughter. Though moments before she seemed pale, gaunt, barely hanging on, steel had quickly resurged in her bones. “He is nothing. Milo is a _monster_. If you say one more thing about them then you will find yourself without a voice.”

With that, she stood pushed away from the concrete slab and stormed out. The wards against her had dropped in the wake of her transformation from Keorah to mind slave, and she passed through the entryway without any resistance. Tamlin only sighed and sagged against the wall, thinking to himself that life as he knew it was over. 

And he’d much rather be with the Mother and his wife then see it through to the end.

*

Keorah

There was only one thing on my mind. 

Aunt Am and her mission for me today. I was to get to the throne room as soon as I woke to carry out my duty to our goal. Our purpose. 

To shape Prythian into the land it was meant to be. A land where Faeries reigned, where we could thrive, and humans grovelled at our feet. How we’d even put up with the miscreants for the last few thousand years, I had no idea, but it would soon finally come to an end. 

My mind still pulsed with confusion, echoing with the reverberations of the argument I’d had with my father minutes ago. Within my head laid a maze of sharp, smoky disorientation, like a puzzle with its pieces laying scattered across a table. How he even had the gall to mention the atrocities that’d happened, what Milo had done to warp my mind… it made my stomach roil as I was being lead within the mountain, clad in my barren, modest clothing, blinking wearily as rock hall after hall passed by. My feet somehow knew where they were taking me without my conscious mind even realizing it. Something deep within me recoiled at the thought of approaching the bustle and noise of the throne room, but this was the place I knew I needed to be.

As soon as I entered the room, my eyes widened. It was like no one had fled in the first place, like activity between the mountain and its heartbreaking downfall had never occurred. Aunt Am truly worked wonders to bring such a crucial location back to life, and it seemed as though others appreciated it as well. Creatures and other High Fae of all kinds lounged around, nursing goblets, chattering amicably and laughing. A place where Fae could be powerful, comfortable, in control. A place where Fae could thrive. 

Someday, after Aunt Am went through with everything, that place would be the rest of Prythian.

Eyes wandered over to where I stood and instantly I remembered who I was and why I was here. My eyes darted to the dais at the centre back wall of the room and I silently stepped closer to it, the crowd growing increasingly quiet as my footsteps echoed across the serene marble walls. 

Amarantha sat straighter upon her throne. Today she was dressed in a gown of the deepest scarlet silk that hugged every inch of her curves and billowed out at her feet. Her crown, I realized, was stark white yet yellowing at the edges with age. 

Bone. Whose bones, I did not know, but _bone_. 

I smirked at the sight. 

I bowed deeply to her, the queen of this future court. Gone with the Seasons and Celestials, there would only be one court, one queen, one reign under the new Prythian. And she was sitting right before me.

I adored her. Serving her was an honour; always had been since the day I was born. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, bright and gleaming. 

“Welcome, my dear,” she purred, one hand grazing the arm of her chair lovingly. “How do you like it?” She gestured vaguely do the room. It was dimly lit, and the old rank of blood clung to the walls—which made the corners of my mouth twitch upwards—blending in with the strong, earthen scent that coated the place. The marble walls and floors brought a regal, royal-like atmosphere upon the room. Itbut even then all I could imagine was gore painted across them as I knew it usually was. 

“Exquisite, my queen,” I murmured. It truly was. The history of Prythian as we knew it was being written within these walls, and those present to witness it, including me, would be graced with basking amongst such greatness.

“Today,” she called, “is a very special occasion. With the Rite in two days, there are a few rituals that need completing. Are you ready, Keorah?”

I knew my task. I could already picture the pommel curled within my palm ready to lunge. My thrummed along with the charged energy of the room, ready to strike at any moment. 

“Bring them out.”

Silence coated the room like an oily sheen. Then, the cracking of a door being opened. 

Followed by guards, dozens of them, ushering people through the door. There were countless prisoners, hoods covering their heads, crying out in confusion. The guards only struck them in their backs or heads before they quieted down. 

The sour tang of fear met my nose. A smirk danced across my lips, and when I looked over to aunt Am, there was delight flickering upon her face. 

Human fear. 

One by one, the guards forced them to their knees. The sound of their kneecaps hitting the cold floor rang throughout the room. Others hissed with laugher. Amarantha only leaned forward, ready for the spectacle to begin. 

And I was ready to perform.

“Bring it forward,” the red queen purred. 

Carrick appeared from the corner of the room, a red velvet pedestal in his arms. He smiled at me, and my stomach rolled at the sight of my fiancee. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until he was right there. 

He uncovered the thin material draped over the top of the awaiting object to reveal an ancient, thick and wickedly sharp dagger. A certain stinging, bitter energy seemed to emanate from it, making me reluctant to reach for it. This object was not to be tampered with; not to be used lightly. 

_But Aunt Am knows what she’s doing,_ I told myself _. I can trust her._

A pause while I considered the thought. 

_I think._

“The Dagger of Destruction and Salvation,” she called across the room. “When dipped in the blood of destruction, the blade recognizes the evil in the handler. It sees the cruel side, the one that ruins irreparably, mirthlessly. Today, it shall be demonstrated in a lovely little faerie-hating family we found by the border. Fitting, right Keorah?”

Somebody whimpered behind me, and I nearly snorted. “Yes, my queen.”

Amarantha smiled then waved Carrick forward, and the male’s steps echoed through the room until he stood at my side. I resisted the urge to close the space between us, to envelop myself within his scent. 

Earth, mint and smoke. 

My nose wrinkled. I blinked, thinking something was very, very wrong. Because he didn’t usually smell like that. No, he smelled of eucalyptus, pine and citrus. Night swept breezes, salt brine and jasmine. The person with that scent… it was he who held my heart like a precious stone within his hands. And the only person who smelled like that…

It was like a tidal wave slammed into me. A tidal wave of revelations that knocked me over, head over heels, sending my thoughts scouring across the floor. 

The beating of my heart paused within my chest. My blood felt leaden in my veins. Carrick… Carrick was not my fiancee. He was not _my_ anything. 

Eucalyptus, pine and citrus. 

_Milo_.

I nearly choked on a sob. 

Violet eyes, dark, soft waves, steel cut jaw and easy lines crinkling whenever he smiled. 

Dread locked around my spine, halting my breath. This was so wrong. So very, very wrong. 

But I knew if I wanted any upper-hand in this, I couldn’t break the mask. I needed to do as she asked if I had any hope in hell of trying to scheme my way out. Pretend I was on her side, no matter what it did to ruin me. It was a split second decision. One that would I would likely regret. 

Though it felt like eons, only seconds passed. I straightened my back, trying to force my face into neutrality. All over my body, it felt as though my nerves were fried. Fear was paralyzing and seized my very being. 

“The Dagger of Destruction and Salvation,” she repeated. “The dagger that, once initiated, will give this land a proper ruler once again, and return it to its former glory.” A rush of approving murmurs slithered across the room. Carrick was beaming, giving me a smile like we were both in on the same joke. 

I swallowed hard. 

“Keorah, darling,” Amarantha said, “take the dagger.”

I looked down upon the row of people they’d lined up before me. All were silent, but the fear, the terror, still lingered. 

Azriel’s words came back to me in a rush.

_A group of humans, a family of about twenty or so, went missing a few days ago._

Oh, gods. Oh rutting, damned, gods…

Some were children. Children, no taller than my kneecaps in their kneeled positions. 

My gut roiled, but my fingers reached out and gripped the pommel of the dagger nonetheless. 

“You know what you need to do,” Carrick murmured. I did know. Every cell within me ached against it, but I knew what I had to do. 

I had to slaughter these people. These innocent humans, who held no stance within this fight. 

I could do it. I could ignore my instincts, the roaring in my ears, and do it. Amarantha made me a snivelling, human-hating person within the hellscape, and that was the role I’d have to play for her. One last game, one last dance around the truth in order to win our liberty. 

The dagger trembled between my fingers. I clutched it tighter, willing it into steel, pretending that these people were my enemies. That they’d done abhorrent things, that they deserved to die. 

But over and over in my head, the one strangled voice called, _liar, liar, liar, liar—_

My feet, padding quietly against the marble floor, stopped before the first one. The first one before me wore rags, like the others, and I could see their knees trembling just at the sound of my arrival before them. 

At least they still had their hood on. At least I wouldn’t have to—

The guard nearest to me approached and ripped it off, revealing a puffy, swollen face peppered with bruises. Two tracks of tears ran down the woman’s dirt caked cheeks, and her dark brown eyes stared up at me in despair. Her whole body shook with tremors now as she stared at me.

“Please,”

I hated the word. It echoed through me, ricocheting across the walls of my mind, curdling my blood. 

“Something wrong, dear?” Amarantha’s lilting voice was edged with concern. Anger. If the mind manipulation was successful, then I’d have no problem doing this. 

“No, my Lady,” I choked out. “Just nervous is all. This is my first kill.”

I’d never killed. Never maimed or harmed or done anything violent with malicious intent towards another creature, and now to be butchering these people in cold blood—

“Oh, then this just became that more exciting, right my darling?”

I held back the tears threatening to spill over. The woman only held my gaze, begging me to stop. 

Swiftly, I made my way to her mental shields. She seemed alarmed by the invasion, but I took control of her motor functions and willed her to relax, to keep the terrified look on her face. Then, I whispered two words. Two words that would never be enough for what I was about to do, the only words I could think of to make this process any easier. 

_I’m sorry._

The dagger slid into her heart with a squishing thud. The blade was so sharp, it met no resistance. 

I pulled the dagger out, and the woman slumped over. Blood poured from the wound in her chest.

Dead. 

The sound echoed throughout the throne room, and I did not allow myself to think about what I’d just done. The person next to her flinched, and I could tell they were holding out cries and screams. 

“Good.” Amarantha said. “Again.”

Over and over, the blade slid in. I looked into the eyes of men, women and children, a girl no older than Isra, a young man no older than me. I looked into all of their eyes, into all of their minds, and uttered the same words, the only words that could help their souls as they passed through to the afterlife. 

_I’m sorry._

I showed no emotion; no sympathy or sadness or mourning for the lives I took. By the last one, the last man who seemed the most aged of them all, the crowd grew bored. By then, the blood soaked my bare feet, and my clothes were reeking of the stuff. 

The old man simply looked at me, analyzing. Judging. Then he looked to the blood on the floor, the blood of the others slumped over beside him. A blood bath, a row of carnage, death and decay. 

He looked to me and said, “I pity you.”

The words sliced into me, just as the dagger sliced across his throat and he careened sideways into the others. 

In my hand, the blade began to burn my palm, and I resisted the urge to drop the cursed thing. My fingers clutched it like a lifeline. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut, to turn the dagger against myself and end it all right now, but I knew my efforts would be fruitless. 

One side of the blade began to glow, a dark, black glow like the one that sometimes emanated from Milo’s presence. I stared at it, waiting for the queen’s orders.

She gazed at me, her eyes filled with dark, twisted amusement. As her lips parted, the crowd hushed in time for her to say, “Come here, my darling.”

Slowly, I turned to face her dais. My feet moved of their own accord. I was nothing. There was nothing left within me as I turned my back on the bodies, on the pool of blood that splashed at my feet with each step. I was only a shell with a heartbeat and a final, measly purpose. I told myself their deaths meant the survival of thousands. But no matter what, my heart beat to the same rhythm of the words coursing through my mind. 

_Murderer. Butcher of innocents. Murderer._

_You’re no better than her._

I stopped before the dais, the knife outstretched in my hand. She took it, examining it from the tips of her fingers. When blood dripped onto the skirts of her dress, she did not flinch. No, she only slid a fingertip along the blade’s edge, then snorted at the warm crimson that collected there. 

“Humans are such worms,” her voice slithered into my ears. I was far, far from here though. Too far gone for any sane mind. “Right Keorah?”

“Yes, my Lady,” I said. Hollow. Cold. 

“My queen.” She corrected. 

“Yes, my queen,” I echoed. The words tasted vile on my tongue. I was to bow to no being, to concede to no other. It didn’t matter anymore. Not when there was blood coating me up to my ankles, warm and sticky and vile.

The look in her eyes made my spine tremble. She believed I was hers. I was wrapped around her finger, prepared to do as she asked me. The perfect, complacent slave. 

“Kneel.”

I surrendered myself. Surrendered my being. For my family, for my court, for my land, I surrendered my soul, and kneeled. 

Blood soaked my knees, sticky and warm, coating me like a second skin of sins I’d never be able to cleanse away. 

Everything else felt so…far. Distant. I could no longer hear, taste, touch or feel, not as Amarantha pushed away from the dais, bent down and dragged her blood soaked fingers down my face. 

Marking me. Claiming me as her own. 

She stood, and all else within the throne room kneeled before her, their queen, their saviour. And once the ceremony was over, I didn’t know who it was that took my shoulders and lead me back to my cell, but all I could do was thank the Mother that no matter what the outcome, in two days, I would be dead. And I wouldn’t have to deal with the black, dark sludge that’d replaced the blood in my veins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for you kind comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll try to update as soon as possible!  
> Have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	6. Salvation and Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah completes the Rites. Milo marches south with the troops.

Milo

The night settled upon us like a blanket. The sky darkened, and in the midst of the calm meadows of the Dawn Court, the stars shown upon the land below in the absence of the moon. Nothing like the Night Court, in terms of stars, and nothing like the Spring Court, in terms of meadows. No, these were not perfumed with fresh morning dew and lilac winds. Wild flowers did not bloom in the nooks and crannies of the grass below. Stars beamed down upon us, yes, but not with the intensity and beauty like my home. 

We’d settled atop the crest of a hill, the woods at our backs, and set up camp within a mile radius. There were tents, supplies and people scattered everywhere—most huddled around the campfires, passing gourds of water, mutton stew or flasks. Helion and Thesan would be joining us tomorrow morning with the last few troops, winnowing them along with extra weapons before we descended upon the mountain. Many of these males and females had fought in the Hybern war. The fact they had to do so so shortly after they’d thought it was over… it was enough to cast a sombre aura across the camp.

With every pulsing of that sombreness was an ache of Keorah’s distance. A wanting to touch her, be near her, or just talk to her. Laugh with her. The things I took for granted, the things I wished I could relive nearly every second of the day. 

I swirled the flask with my fingertips before bringing it to my lips. The liquid burned a path down the back of my throat before settling itself in my stomach. Warmth leeched from where it radiated, relaxing my joints and ligaments after a long day of treading southward. We were about a hundred miles south of Dawn Court’s northern border, meaning we should arrive in a day and a half’s time. It was barely scraping by to meet Amarantha’s deadline, which was set for that day, but Dad had said that if it we didn’t make enough advance tomorrow that he’d dispatch a group to keep travelling overnight and assure that there were troops already on sight by the time every one else arrived. 

My eyes closed as my lips found the flask once more. All I could see in my head was Oris as I replayed the day’s events. 

“You remember that, don’t you Miles?”

The voice had torn me from daydreaming of my mate, of the time we’d spent together up North the day following our mating. How peaceful it’d been, like a calm, quiet little world all to ourselves. 

Only to be shattered to pieces days later. 

I hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge him. Nya and Raph were beginning to pick up on it, yet didn’t quite like my utter disregarding of his presence. In turn for my silence, Raph had elbowed me in the shoulder. I should’ve just stayed behind like I did yesterday. Had I known joining Nya and Raph would’ve brought the oaf out from where he was back in the thicket of soldiers with his legion, I wouldn’t have bothered. 

I grunted. “Remember what?” I hadn’t been listening to him before. 

“The time you and I would go hunting in the Steppes. You killed that Bynus on your first shot.” 

My nose wrinkled at the thought of the Bynus. Great large creatures covered in white fur with red eyes and razor sharp teeth. The fur was the most prized of the creature’s assets, sold as an expensive rug in most Illyrian villages. We’d made a fortune off of it and Oris bought all the booze and brothel nights he could. 

When he wasn’t using me, of course. 

The lump in my throat wouldn’t go away no matter how many times I swallowed. “Made a killing off of that.”

His boom of laughter skittered across my skin. “Oh Gods, did we ever.” He smiled, his scar shifting as the lines in his face deepened. He tucked a strand of his stark black hair back into its tie at the base of his neck before saying, “The little Heir of Night used to get exhausted after a good day of hunting or training.” Nya snorted at the nickname and shot me a look. I didn’t bother meeting her gaze, for all my limbs felt frozen at in fear for whatever he was about to say. 

“We’d always go to the birchin to relax, yet little Milo was so drained that he’d fall asleep right then and there. I had to carry him out of there myself one night because he was so sore.”

Raph burst into laughter, and Nya smiled, but all I could think of was how I would pretend to fall asleep so he wouldn’t try anything on me. And that night, when he’d carried me from the birchin and back to his cabin, he saw my eyes open for only a second before his hands were on me, and I was his.

I didn’t know how I got through the day of throwing around old toxic, murky memories like those, but I did.

And now I stayed a healthy, large distance away from him. I was not in the business of ever interacting with the male unless absolutely necessary. 

The warmth within my chest soon spread to my limbs and I felt heavy, so heavy. My thoughts moved like honey, drifting from Oris to Keorah, my beautiful mate, and all her brightness trapped within a mountain of darkness and ichor. 

The camp quieted down by the time I stumbled to my tent and passed out. 

*

_His hands were everywhere._

_They were all over, thousands of them, touching my bare skin, leaving burn marks in the wake. I was being suffocated, consumed, and all I could smell and touch was_ him _—_

_“Get off of me!” The words tore from my throat brutally, achingly, like nails being shoved down my esophagus._

_Oris’s voice grated against my ears. “Just relax, Miles. It’s okay. Just relax.”_

_“No! Stop!”_

“MILO!”

Hands shook me awake and I crawled away from them, wiping their touch off of my skin. He was _here_ , it was going to happen all over again—

“Get away!” I screamed. Damn the others, damn the sleeping soldiers, I wouldn’t let him near me ever again. 

In the dark, blankets ruffled once more and I tore my dagger from my jacket, angling it towards the intruder, ready to strike and take him down once and for all. My breathing was rough and ragged and I knew my hands were trembling, but I was steady in my intentions. I would kill him. 

Only, an oil lamp flared to life, and there kneeled dad, eyes wide and filled with concern and hurt. 

We were both panting, both in shock, just staring at each other as tension-filled seconds passed. 

“Milo,” he said once more, only there was a hopelessness that tinted his voice and struck an ache within me. He let out a shallow breath and murmured, “Talk to me.” 

I’d pushed him away for so long that now the distance between us seemed too far to even reach out. 

“What is it?” He attempted once more. 

I tried to find the words within me. I tried, and they rose up to my throat, ready to spill their murky ink unto the blank pages between us, yet still nothing came out. There were millions of ways I could say it, there were millions of ways I could tell my father how fucked up I’d become, and not a single one of them escaped my lips. Out of fear? I didn’t know. Maybe it was shame. Or, maybe, it was because once those words left my mouth, it would be real, and I really would be the sad little Heir of the Night court. I would be the pathetic, pitiful person Oris had shaped me to be.

So I stayed silent. 

Dad held my gaze for a few piercing, aching seconds before he slowly lifted himself from his crouched position, dusted off his sleeping pants, pivoted on his heel and walked away. 

I didn’t know I was holding back tears until they slid down my cheeks and eventually lulled me to sleep. 

Only to awaken to the sound of screams and the feeling of the life draining out of me as I slowly choked to death.

*

Keorah

They’d taken away my tattoos. 

That was the first thing I noticed when I came to. When I stared down at my body and nothing was there. No scars, no tattoos, not a hint of who I was, who I used to be. There was a fine line between who those different versions of me were. 

Before it might’ve made me cry. But this new version of me was already broken, was already dead and gone, so it didn’t really matter. Not when there were much larger stakes at hand. 

There was one day left. 

One day for inexistent saviours to come. One day for my family to storm down the doors and bring this place to its knees. To bring Amarantha to her knees, and give her the punishment she never got seventy five years ago. To make her pay for her cruelty, for the lives she took. 

For my life. For the family of twenty humans. For Feyre, and Rhysand, and everybody in between. 

Yet there was only silence that encompassed my wing of the caverns. Every once in a while, the crack of a whip would echo throughout the barren rock walls, or somebody’s piercing scream ricocheting across the mountain. Yet, besides that, was silence. Not even the skittering of creatures across the floor. 

I could do nothing but curl up in the corner and sleep. Even Papa didn’t show up. I outlasted the long hours on my own, whispering names into the darkness, praying for their safety to the Mother in hopes she’d ever hear me. 

_Milo, Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren, Isra, Papa, Mama, Vesna._

Even though Amarantha thought I was in her thralls, she kept me down here in my cell where the wards were thicker against me and I couldn’t use my magic. The only opportunity I had to use it, when I felt it flow back into me, was when I was in the throne room, though I knew I couldn’t have done any real damage. I was outnumbered a hundred to one and so weak I could barely stand, not to mention panicked out of my wits. 

So I stayed in my small corner of hell and waited. Waited and waited until footsteps sounded throughout the cavern, and there stood Carrick, the Attor, hands in his pockets, smirk on his lips as he took me in, curled up and still coated in blood. 

My gut roiled, but nonetheless, I smiled. Supposedly, he was my mate. I had to play the part. No matter how much it killed me. No matter how much my body seemed to balk. 

“Darling, there is need of you in the throne room once more.”

My brows rose, and the sound of my rapid heartbeat thudded in my ears. “What for?” They’d already used me enough yesterday. If I needed to take another life, I was going to vomit. 

“You’ll see. It’ll be alright. I will be by your side the entire time.” His teeth flashed in a smile and my stomach squeezed. 

Reluctantly, I stood, and he was there at my side pulling me up and into him. His arm slid around my waist, washing his scent and warmth over me. I was going to gag. Every part of him made me want to melt away right then and there and be done with it. 

Silence trailed along with us as we made our way through the same damp, cold tunnels as I did yesterday. My hands were trembling at the thought of being back in that throne room, seeing the bloody red marble floors, smelling the dead flesh and the reek of decay. Their faces still stood stark white in my memory, how lifeless their eyes were when they slumped over. How the little girl had pleaded and pleaded for me not to kill her family, to let them go in peace, that they’d done nothing wrong. By then I’d already tuned their words out, but the shrill of her voice hadn’t left me. Neither did her similarities to Isra. 

Yesterday’s cacophony reached my ears as we stood only a few feet from the doorway. Carrick paused, then turned to face me. His smile made me want to spit in his face. 

“You are strong, Keorah. You only need to do this before tomorrow, then Prythian will be ours.”

I nearly snorted. Within the dreamscape, they never once mentioned that saving Prythian required them to sacrifice my life. They only herded me like a lamb to slaughter. 

Despite this, I nodded, and he leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead. It seared like a burn mark, and all I wanted was to scrub away my skin as we entered the throne room once more. 

To my surprise, the bodies had been cleaned up. The blood was gone. At least, I think it was. I couldn’t tell with the deep red marble. Maybe the marble was once white, yet stained over the years with the gore that’d occurred over and over during the five decades of her cruel reign.

Carrick approached the dais and bowed before his queen. Her face today was bored and distant. She only flicked her fingers as a sign of dismissal before Carrick straightened and took up position at the base of her throne. 

Today she wore a gown of deepest black. A black so deep that it seemed to suck all the life and light surrounding her. Something about it struck a chord deep within me. It reminded me of the darkness Milo had shown me how to wield, of the light we both breathed into it like tiny stars dancing all around. 

I only gazed at it for a few seconds before averting my eyes and forcing myself to bend at the waist. Never, ever was I supposed to bow before another. That was one of the only key lessons Papa taught me about being ruler of the Court. You bow to no one and nobody but your crown. 

Only another way I’d failed my people.

When I straightened, Amarantha’s eyes pierced into mine. “Speak.”

I forced the jitters out of my voice. “You look exquisite today, Your Majesty.”

That brought a flicker of amusement to her face. “This gown is quite lovely, isn’t it? I bought it in a lovely little shop up North. There’s a quaint little city there I haven’t been able to find on a map in quite a while.” The corners of her mouth curled upwards. “Velaris. The City of Starlight. Little Rhysie’s little home.” The words rolled off her tongue, lilting and belittling. “You may be familiar with it, right Keorah?”

My stomach sank. I knew why that fabric was familiar. I had seen it in Feyre’s office on my tour of the manor the first few days I was in the Night Court with Milo. 

Amarantha had been in Velaris. She was in their _city_ , in their _home._ At least she hadn’t destroyed anything. But just the mere thought of her infiltrating a city of peace, healing and growth, of her doing so so easily, was enough to send a tremble down my spine. 

“Yes, Your Majesty. I am.”

“I had never been to such corners of that dreaded place until Rhysand darling opened its borders and let all kinds of rift-raft in. Just like what I sent up North today.”

I did not let my eyes widen. I did not let them see how the entire world fell out from underneath me as I imagined vile creatures of all kinds racing North, poised to ambush a defenceless city of healing and love. The battle of Hybern left its mark upon its people, but if I knew anything about Amarantha, she’d try everything in her power to bring Rhys to his knees, by doing the exact thing that would tear him apart: destroy his home. 

I had to tell Papa. Surely he could try to do something to warn them. Surely he could get a message out if it was this emergent. 

I only clenched my fists at my side and willed the tremble in my voice away. “Thank goodness. Those Night Court people will get what’s coming to them.”

Her head tilted to the side in appreciation, long, black nails scraping against her throne. “My thoughts exactly, my dear.” Her eyes flicked away from mine to the crowd beyond. “Alas, today is not about Night Court miscreants. Today is a celebration for the finality of our long journey home. Tomorrow at dawn, Keorah will bring us all to peace with her small sacrifice, and justice will be restored to Prythian, once and for all.”

Cheers, shouts and applause sounded out behind me, but I couldn’t focus as thoughts of blood running down the streets of Velaris consumed my mind. I had no idea when she sent the battalion. They may be there right now desiccating the place I’d called home, if only for a little while.

“Now, my precious, for the second part of your task.”

Carrick once again stepped forward with the same pedestal as yesterday. The dagger lay poised upon it gently like a small child. It still had the same ethereal black glow on the one side of it from yesterday, and I could only wonder what today’s activities held in store for me. I willed steel into my nerves, but nonetheless, my legs were trembling. 

“Salvation,” she said, “from life, from healing. To display the good in the handler’s heart, to balance out the destruction and the dark. Bathed in the blood of a healer, the dagger will be fully activated and ready to be wielded.”

The lump in my throat grew, and I swallowed hard, trying to push it down to no avail.

“Don’t be scared,” Carrick said. Carefully, one hand holding the pedestal up, he reached out with his other to grab my wrist then lay my hand gently on the dagger’s pommel. 

The same burning feeling returned from yesterday. There was a dark, ancient magic within this weapon waiting to be unleashed. I couldn’t imagine how old it was, or where it was forged, but it was as though the rock itself was made of decay. 

My fingers wrapped around it, and I felt the dagger’s magic consume me. 

_Wield me_ , it whispered, _child of everywhere,_ _child of nowhere. Wield me and let my spirits roam free._

Fear paralyzed me with its tendrils of terror. The dagger’s voice scraped within my mind, and all else in the world was cut off as it continued, _Wield me, child of all courts, child of none, and let balance be restored once and for all._

As soon as it came over me, it left, and I hadn’t realized my kneecaps had sunk into the ground, dagger angled up towards the ceiling. I panted, wanting to chuck the thing as far away from me as I could. 

But my arms moved of their own accord. Both hands wrapped around the dagger, like they had minds of their own, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t resist the knife’s magic as all ten fingers wrapped around the pommel. 

And turned it inwards, towards me. 

I looked to Amarantha, who’s face only grew more and more excited by the second. “Don’t resist, my child. Do as it says.”

How she knew it could speak, I had no idea. All I knew was big, deep gulping breaths—

The knife slid into my chest, and all was silent, still. The blood gargled within me, and I was choking, choking on my own blood, but the knife stayed lodged there, until finally my fingers retracted it from my chest. It clattered to the floor and I slumped over, blood pouring from the wound. 

Then, a weird sensation overcame me. The wound clotted. I wasn’t choking anymore. Blood stained my clothes, my mouth and my lips, but it was no longer spewing as it did before. 

Air rattled inside my chest, and I could breathe again. 

And that’s when I realized the weird sensation was my magic. Magic, coming to life again. 

The wards had been lifted. If only for a second, all the wards on me were lifted. 

And there was the mating bond, just as I’d left it, burning brightly and fully between Milo and I. 

_MILO,_ I cried down the bond.

The response came instantaneously, full of love and concern and heartbreak. _Keorah_ , his voice filled my mind, and the word was broken like a sob, _I love you. I’m almost there. We’re almost there._

_Velaris is under attack. She sent them today. I don’t know how many—_

_Are you okay? What’s going on?_

I sent him an imagine of me, on the floor, blood everywhere and the dagger curled at my side. _You need to hurry. I don’t have much time left. I love you._

_KEORAH—_

The wards were coming back down. I tried to fight them off, fight them away—

_What happened—_

Just as soon as my powers came, they left, and silence reigned in my mind. The bond lay there, limp and silent, severed by the wards and leeching of my magic. It was like a candle had been blown out, leaving only trails of smoke behind. I still laid prostrate on the floor, coated in my own sticky blood, until the knife warmed once more in my hands. 

I opened my eyes, and the other side of the blade began to glow. This time, brightly, like the glow that sometimes appeared beneath my skin, gifted by the day court. 

Amarantha smiled.

*

Milo

Choking hands of smoke squeezed against my throat. Dark grey clouds of the stuffheaved in and out of my lungs as I coughed, scrounging around my tent to pull on my trousers and holster my weapons. Screams sounded from outside, and instantly my mind went to my Illyrian training, limbs pumping with adrenaline and ready to fight. 

I wasted no time and swung back the flap of my tent only to see complete mayhem across the camp. Fires burned haphazardly around the settlement, and steel clashed against steel as Illyrians, Day Court and Peregryn soldiers alike fought off Hybern’s army clad in black, scale-like leather. No more than seconds after I left the tent, someone approached to the right, and I unsheathed my weapon without a second thought. 

The sword came down hard but I pushed up, deflecting the blow, then quickly pierced the fine edge of the blade through the faerie’s throat. It fell to the ground, blood gargling at its mouth. More rushed me, and I didn’t give the a second glance before misting the three of them, their blood mingling with the curling plumes of smoke and flame. 

I rushed southward where Cassian and dad’s tents were. They’d tell me where they needed me. 

As I rushed back, I realized how outnumbered we were. There were so many of them everywhere, I couldn’t even keep track of the black-clothed bodies. 

An Illyrian soldier ran past me to the woods, wings consumed in flames. All the nerves in my body hissed at the sight and I sent water rushing the male’s way. It was all I could do for him for the moment until the fight died down. 

Sword raised, I hacked and slashed my way down south until Cassian was there, sword in hand, face contorted in concentration as his blade slashed across the throats of three soldiers. They fell all at once. Dad stood at his back, knocking somebody’s feet out from underneath them before using their own spear to slice through their stomach.

Mum, Azriel and Mor were nowhere to be found. 

“Where do you want me?” I yelled over the rage of the flames and surrounding carnage. 

More soldiers approached. These were dressed in Spring Green, their chest plates stamped with a rose in the top right corner just above their hearts. Spring’s army was in this too, I supposed. I was shocked we hadn’t encountered them earlier during our descent to the middle territories. Cassian waved at us over his shoulder as a signal that he could take them on as we discussed. 

Dad was panting, a hand on my shoulder as he surveyed the camp. He shook his head once, and only now did I truly see the how the weight of his exhaustion and age pressed down upon him. For some reason, he seemed so small. I kept having to remind myself that every day, every step was one closer to Amarantha, the person who’d held my father captive for 49 years in the most disgusting, vile ways imaginable. 

I couldn’t imagine spending 49 years trapped, nearly always alone, with Oris. Never would I think I could’ve survived it. 

“Anywhere,” my father finally said, raising his sword once more. He gripped my shoulder and locked his eyes with mine as he said, “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care how you do it. Just take them out. End this, right now.”

A death blow. My father wanted a death blow. 

Though it would drain my power to the dregs, as well as myself, I knew I could try. To end this and minimize the casualties, I could try.

I began to run.

Others pushed at me as they sprinted by, but I couldn’t hear them. The wall of fire surrounding us was nearly half a mile long, running along the edge of the fields and pushing us inward into the forest where visibility was lower and made for worse battlefield for a winged army. I needed to get higher, to gain some ground so I could look at the camp fully to ensure my magic was precise when I sent it out.

The heat here was stifling and nearly unbearable. My shirt stuck to my chest as waves of heat made my skin soaked in sweat as I pushed my legs as quickly as I could. Whenever somebody other than Dawn, Day and Night Court-attired stepped in my way to take me on, one thought and I was past their mental shields melting their brains. Though I tried to take down as many as I could, so many bodies littered the ground. White Peregryn wings were stained red with blood.

The fighting grew thicker the higher and higher I got. Great white, feathery wings flapped above me as a Peregryn clashed with an Attor-like creature. The Peregryn slashed downward diagonally which the faerie easily avoided, only to respond with a piercing jab to the stomach. The Peregryn didn’t raise his sword in time and tumbled to the ground. 

I couldn’t focus on the death, or the smell of burning flesh as I was nearly to the top. I began burrowing down, down deep within me. I imagined my source in my core, imagined its size and flew to the depths, passing ice and water and flame and air and darkness and light, dragging everything down with me; seeing it as a whole and not just a tool. 

I stood at the top of the hill, slightly winded, staring at the carnage and destruction reining below. Then, I closed my eyes, waiting. Waiting as I went to the depths of my power, and began dragging all the way back up. 

My hands were splayed at my sides, fingers curled as I sent spears of my magic across the camp. To the enemies, I told it. To Hybern. To the Spring Court. 

Being of Spring, it knew what to recognize. Not being of any other court, it knew to detect Hybern as well. All it needed was form. Shape. 

I thought of something sharp. Something quick, efficient, something straight to the heart for it all to be over with. I closed my eyes and sent it all pouring out of me, hundreds of tiny little invisible whips shooting across the camps until they settled on their targets. 

Something clicked in my mind. It was ready. 

I opened my eyes, and a few feet away from me, an icicle about a foot long floated parallel to the ground, deathly sharp tip pointed toward the right breast of a nearby Hybern soldier. Floated, then pierced straight through with enough force to pierce armour, steel, anything I willed it too. 

Bodies dropped. From the sky, around the camp, everywhere. Enemies dropped, leaving only a few stragglers behind who’d either shielded themselves or had wards around them. The clashing of steel stopped, leaving only others to gaze around in confused amazement. 

And when I looked to the sky, the water summoned, just as I pictured it would, then dropped like a monsoon. 

The fires went out. Everything was out. 

Silence reigned across the camp. Complete and utter—

_MILO_.

 

 

my heart stopped. 

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be.

But there was a bond there. A living, glowing bond, and I felt her, felt her pain and loneliness and suffering and my very soul balked at the thought that my mate was bathing in such darkness. 

_Keorah_ , I nearly sobbed the word. _I love you. I’m almost there. We’re almost there._

How she could speak to me, I had no idea, but my very being felt better just feeling her. Knowing she was alive, definitely not well, but alive nonetheless and coherent.

_Velaris is under attack. She sent them today. I don’t know how many—_

Those words made my heart sink, but I couldn’t focus on them right now. I needed to focus on her and make sure she was okay before we moved on to anything else. 

_Are you okay? What’s going on?_

_You need to hurry. I don’t’ have much time left. I love you._

The image came, and my knees buckled. She was on the ground, blood coating her chest, her legs, and there was a dagger glowing brightly in her hands, stark against the red marble floor. And there on the dais was Amarantha, the Attor at her side. Panic seized my chest. 

_What happened—_

Just as quickly as it came, the bond severed beneath us. My shoulders dropped and my eyes closed, my mind already feeling so much more empty without her presence. 

I wanted to run. I wanted to sprint down to the mountain, and I pushed myself off the ground ready to leave. There was no time left. She was dying, bleeding out, and we were here taking our idle time while my mate was giving up everything.

The other soldiers began to travel back down the hill to regroup with the others. I began to yell for them—

Pain sliced through my back. It was quick and brutal, just one jab clean through the stomach. I could see the tip of the blade sticking out the front where blood blossomed on my shirt. My fingers pressed to it, and they came back red.

I spun, before the full impact of the blow would hit me, and saw a Hybern solder-faerie, blood at shining on his long, razor-sharp teeth as they gleamed in a smile. “That’s for my brothers.”

He was too weak to stand and finally slumped down, dagger clattering to the blood soaked grass. I was still in shock, holding my stomach as the blood started staining both hands. 

I think I called for help. I couldn’t tell as the world spun and my knees sank to the ground with a loud smack, and everything clouded over until the void consumed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter because I won't have wifi again for a while. Hope you're all still enjoying it, sorry for the cliff-hanger!  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	7. Wrath and Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twists and turns and twists and turns...  
> Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, rape/molestation, suicidal ideation

_CHAPTER 29_

Rhysand

His son was covered in scars. Lots of thick, straight, precise cuts. More so than Rhysand could count. 

The first thing they’d told him as the blend of soldiers—Day, Peregryn and Illyrian alike—carried him in on their shoulders was that he’d been stabbed and had only been bleeding out for a few minutes or so before they reached him nearer to the top of the hill they’d been camped upon. The second were a few dry comments about how ‘That boy must have seen a lot’ and ‘More scars than I’ll ever have’. Rhys was confused until the healers peeled back Milo’s shirt to begin working on the wound, only to find that his son’s body had been completely covered in tattoos. And, past that, scars. 

Some old, some terrifyingly, achingly new. They were all over his body, especially his thighs, forearms and stomach. Rhys could only watch, tears rolling down his cheeks, as the healers began their work trying to patch up where his son had been stabbed clean through his back and into his stomach. 

The male and the female working on his son didn’t bat a lash at what they saw. They had probably seen much, much worse and were accustomed to such things.

The only reason they were all alive was because of him and what he’d done to quench the battles. When Rhysand saw how his son sent the death spears to the enemies, he only stood in awe as soldiers dropped, dead and bleeding, to the ground. Even Cassian didn’t hold himself back as he stared, mouth open in amazement. 

It was the kind of stories told around campfires and pubs. Pride had bloomed in his chest, only minutes before the panic set in once he was informed that Milo had been stabbed. 

Rhys left Cassian to deal with the aftermath of the ambush. Though their placement and location had been ideal for handling any sort of attack, and they’d also been expecting one due to the quiet demeanour Amarantha and Tamlin had been executing, they hadn’t expected the full brunt of it to hit in the dead middle of night. The flames seemed to have started out of nowhere and never end. 

Hours before the fighting had even begun, Amren had sent a message that there were disturbances in the wards surrounding Velaris. Rhys’s second in command had sensed a strange magic approaching the southern border and grew wary, doubling the wards and stationing the city’s volunteered guard on the outskirts to keep watch. Feyre, Azriel and Mor had left before the battle broke out here, but Rhys hadn’t heard from his mate since, despite the numerous messages he’d sent down the bond to her. 

So Rhys did the only thing he thought his mind could handle at the moment. He sat down on the chair next to his son’s bed, held his head in his hands, and cried. 

He didn’t do so often. Rhys usually kept his emotions in check, like his mother and father had taught him, like his brutal, cruel Illyrian training had taught him. He could process and absorb events then move past them, only to deal with them fully in an emotional stance in the privacy of his own quarters, often times with his mate at his side to talk him through it. 

But seeing his son, injured like this after giving him direct orders that put him in such a vulnerable, dangerous position, only added to the festering ball of guilt in his chest that swelled every time Rhys looked at Milo. He would never forget the look of agony his son gave him after being told that Keorah had been delivered to her death. He would never forget the words Milo had shot at him when trying to make amends for what he’d done. 

And now, staring at Milo’s arms, Rhys’s fingers absentmindedly trailed along his own tattoo, the one twin to Milo’s and Feyre’s that they’d gotten as a family. Only Milo’s had been freshly inked over to cover up the scar tissue below. 

Rhys had heard about how people used that kind of mechanism as a way to cope with their darkness. He’d heard of it and grimaced, disbelieving that anybody could put themselves through so much pain to alleviate their pre-existing pain, and somehow feel better. 

Yet here Rhysand was, barely able to breathe as he stared at his son. 

What had Rhys done to make Milo’s life so miserable to drive him to do this? What had they _all_ done?

Or better yet, who other than the immediate family had done this to him? 

His fists clenched at the thought of somebody hurting his son so vilely that it drove him to these lengths. 

_Rhys_ , a voice echoed in his mind. The only voice that ever echoed in his mind, a soft, soothing caress that alleviated any momentary stress or pain for him. 

But this time, Feyre’s voice was alert. Panicked. Rhys instantly tensed. _What is it?_

_It’s gone._

The words we so cold, so empty. 

Panic seized Rhys’s blood and breath. His voice was no louder than a whisper. _What’s gone? What happened?_

_Spring Court and Hybern soldiers winnowed to the Southern border and got past the wards but they only did minor damage to Velaris before the city guard got to them. Mor and Azriel took care of the rest. There weren’t many of them, but they all targeted one place._

_Where?_ Rhys’s nerves stood on end waiting for his mate’s answer.

_The house. They destroyed it. It’s gone._

Rhys’s eyes closed. He covered his face with his hands once more, a broken, agonizing ichor leaking into his chest. 

The house they’d built and designed together. The house Feyre had dreamed of, had spent weeks planning and reformatting. He could still picture her in her overalls, dust covering her tied up hair and face with a hammer and nails as she helped the other workers, a great big grin on her face as they laid out the skeleton of it. 

They’d raised their kids there. Built their family there. 

Yet another thing Amarantha had taken from them. 

_Feyre, you have to come back_ , Rhys said. Though the news tore at him, he couldn’t tell her her son had nearly died like this. She needed to see that he was alive and breathing and well. 

Maybe not well, exactly, but alive.

_ What is it? _

_There was an ambush last night. Something went wrong. Just_ … he sighed. The weight of these last few weeks had all come down on him now, like the rolling behemoths of snow the mountains in Illyria sometimes shed, tumbling and claiming everything in its wake. _Just come back._

_I’ll be there soon._

Too absorbed in the conversation with his mate, Rhysand didn’t hear Cassian walk into the tent. 

“What the hell happened to him?” Cassian stomped over to Milo’s side. Milo still laid there, blissfully asleep, unaware of the fallout surrounding him. Rhys watched his brother run his fingers over Milo’s arms, covered in ridges and thick red lines. “You told me he was stabbed, not used as a cutting board.” Cassian turned to face Rhysand. Though Cassian had… _different_ ways of expressing himself, there was pure terror written all over his stance and features. “What the hell happened?”

Rhysand didn’t think he could make it, re-explaining how much he’d screwed up as a father over and over again. His thoughts seemed to scatter and his mouth moved on its own. “He’s been doing this to himself.”

A tension-filled pause as Cassian tried to absorb the information. “What?”

“He’s cutting himself. To feel better. That’s how he…copes.”

“Gods above, Rhys,” Cassian dragged a hand down his face before he pulled over a chair and slumped into it. “What the fuck happened to him? What did that male do to him?”

Rhys perked up. “Who? What male?”

“Oris,” Cassian bit back. “Oris did something to him, Rhys. Milo shuts down every time he’s near him.”

“But they were best friends, Cass.” He shook his head. “They were inseparable. What could he have done that would result in…” Rhys waved to the entirety of his son, unable to put into words exactly how to describe his condition. “This?”

Cassian sighed. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Footsteps padded outside the tent and the flap whipped open. There stood his mate, Azriel and Mor trailing close behind, faces grim and taut. 

His mate took one look at their son and burst into sobs.

*

Keorah

I fell asleep coated in blood. My blood; those humans’ blood. I couldn’t keep track of the crimson liquid, and my skin grew itchy and sticky from it being caked on for nearly a day now without wash. I hadn’t bathed since I’d gotten here, and my hair was matted and tangled with knots, my smooth skin shining with a layer of grime and oil. I still hadn’t gotten used to the smoothness of it, or the way it looked without the scars. And I wasn’t sure if having them gone was a blessing or a curse.

No matter how ugly they were, my scars made me who I was. They were degrading, humiliating and brought upon vile memories I wished I could erase, but they also reminded me of what’d I’d been through. They reminded me I got past it, and I could get past whatever next laid before me. Now, I wasn’t entirely sure I could even do that anymore. 

Now, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was the offspring of control, Amarantha’s experiment, her plaything, her belonging. I was a lamb raised for slaughter, and my time was up tomorrow. 

Whatever happened between my birth and now didn’t matter. All that mattered was tomorrow, it would be over, and hopefully if Papa and I succeeded, Prythian would be safe. 

My thoughts drifted to Milo, but I shut them out. Hearing his voice today was enough. There was no need to open those wounds now, to let those thoughts flow, because I knew if I did it would send me down a dark pit so deep I wouldn’t be able to dig myself back out. 

There was no way to tell time Under the Mountain. All hours and minutes blurred together, separated by my shallow breaths and paralyzing fear whenever footsteps would sound in the distance. All I wanted were a few hours’ peace before my death. 

But that was taken away from me when the dark orb was back again at my door. I narrowed my eyes at it, wishing I could huff it out on a phantom wind, but my blood did not surge when I called upon my powers. I was limp, weak, tired, and leeched of magic. Sighing, I scrambled to my feet and padded over to it. It did not burn me as I stepped into it, then slowly lifted off the ground and floated me down the halls. 

I had never been this way before. At this point, I knew how to get to the throne room. The pathway this time was higher up, closer to the top of the mountain. I could feel the lift in elevation, the release of weight pressing upon my shoulders and the slight ease in breathing. I passed nobody in these halls, not even the occasional servant I’d usually encounter on the way to the throne room. My stomach gargled with nervousness, and my fears were answered when the dim glow of a lusciously furnished room came into view. 

Amarantha lounged on a long chaise along the far right wall of the open space dressed in a robe of white silk that fell to her ankles. Her hair was swept into a low bun and was still wet from a recent bath. Wine, fresh fruits and fine cheeses were lusciously laid upon a golden platter at her fingertips, untouched. While the rest of the captives in this mountain survived off slop and crumbs as I did, she left mountains of food to waste as she laid back in her finery. Silk sheets were tucked tightly into her plush, red quilt-covered bed, which was so big one could swim in it and not reach the other end. On the left side was her closet, where dozens and dozens of gowns hung carefully upon brass racks. A line of jewelled crowns sat upon the fire place facing the bed, as well as other fine jewels, necklaces and rings within their respective cases. My jaw nearly dropped in awe at such a display of wealth, and wondered how she’d been able to accumulate such riches despite her downfall. Though, I guess if this mountain had remained untouched since the first time around, then these also would’ve remained as they were before. 

And, if things _had_ remained the same, then that very bed was the one Milo’s father had been forced to service Amarantha upon. 

The thought sent a chill skittering down my spine. 

Cautiously, I met Amarantha’s eyes through the curling smoke of the orb, and her lips twitched into a grin. “Keorah,” she purred. “Come. Sit with aunt Am. It’s been a while since we’ve had time to talk, yes?”

I nodded my head. I guessed the throne room didn’t count; not when she had an audience to entertain. 

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. I needed to play this right. I couldn’t show fear.

As though the orb understood her, its smoke drew away slightly so I could exit unscathed. Unsure where to take up seat, I stood there awkwardly until she curled her finger towards velvet vanity chair and it moved of its own accord to face her. 

When I stared into the mirror on the vanity, I nearly halted. My face stared back at me. I’d grown so accustomed to the claw marks, the welts on my temples, the scratches on my cheeks that I nearly did a double take when I saw the skin smooth, untouched. I couldn’t look at my gaunt cheeks and frail bones much longer before seeming too suspicious, and I sat upon the chaise stiffly, bones unable to relax. 

A plate of food appeared on the vanity, and my mouth watered at the sight of vegetable stew, fresh bread, roast elk and steamed rice. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days, and though everything smelled so good I was prepared to ignore the silverware and dive in with my hands, the thought of eating so much rich food made me sick. 

Reluctantly, I sat, and ate gingerly at the bread, trying to hide my shaking hands. It was fresh, soft on the inside and crusty on the outside. I nearly sighed. 

“How has your stay been so far?” She wondered, as though we were best friends. As though she hadn’t made me kill all those people for sport and selfishness, as though she hadn’t made me stab myself and nearly bleed out to death only a few hours ago. 

I shrugged my shoulders. “I miss home.” I nearly choked on the words, my nerves were sizzling them so badly. “I miss being with you and Carrick and Papa the way we used to be.” In my dreamscape, they made us seem like one big happy family. It couldn’t have been more fucked up if she tried.

“We all need to make sacrifices,” she shrugged. “It won’t be for much longer, anyway. The Rite ends tomorrow and everything will be as it should. Then we’ll start planning your wedding.” She winked at me and I resisted the urge to reach over and slap her across the face. Wedding, my ass.

I swallowed hard, though. If I was going to play this right, I needed to ask strategic questions. I needed to know what I was getting into tomorrow. 

“Has there been any news on an advancing army?” I wondered casually. To keep up the nonchalantness, I picked away at the elk with the glinting silverware. “I thought I heard murmurings of activity in the North.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just the Night Court thinking it knows best, as usual. They’re nearly to the southern border of the Dawn Court. I sent a group up a few hours ago to take care of them but they just won’t die.” Amarantha’s delicate hands reached over and curled around her chalice, bringing the crimson drink to her lips. “It doesn’t matter anyway. We have reinforcements outside that will convince them otherwise of trying to get in our way tomorrow. There in nothing to worry about, my dear.”

“And what of tomorrow?” I wondered aloud. This was the subject she’d danced around, failing to mention my eventual death in sacrifice. “What’s expected of me?”

She brushed me off with a wave of her hand. “Nothing, really. Just a bunch of spell reading, then I take the dagger and make a tiny knick to draw your blood, then it’s over. No more then a nox-beetle sting, really.”

Papa told me he needed specifics: people, locations, time frames. I pushed on further. “Will Papa and Carrick be there?”

Her eyes narrowed as she set down her wine. “Carrick, yes, but not your father. He’s needed in the throne room to hold court.”

“And where will we be?”

“Enough,” she snapped. “Eat your food.”

I didn’t dare disobey. My fork dug into the stew as though I hadn’t eaten for months. I kept silent, working away at my food as quickly as possible as she droned on about petty court dramatics and flings between her subjects. She said they’d all remained behind in Hybern; as the wealthiest of the late King’s court they needed not participate in the war and instead made money off the selling of weapons, horses, supplies, etc. It boiled my blood to know those snivelling fae had made money off of my people’s death and suffering, but I kept calm nonetheless and listened carefully. 

The more and more she went on, the more I wanted to push my food away from me, but I finished it despite the foul company. Keeping my eyes trained low, I could only tell she drew nearer by the soft sighing of the silk across the marble floor as another chair appeared behind me, and she sat directly in back of me, the both of us framed in her vanity mirror. The tray of food disappeared, and once it did, she reached forward to grab a hairbrush. Strands of golden auburn hair still clung to the bristles, and I nearly cringed as she brought it down upon my head, my knotted, matted main resisting. But as she continued, smoothing my scalp down with an oil she dropped into her hands, I almost had to catch myself from relaxing too deeply into her touch. The knots fell away one by one, and when I opened my eyes, straight, tame blonde hair encased my face, and I looked better than I had in a long, long while. 

Despite that, I was still lifeless. It may not have shown in the rest of me, but when I stared straight into my eyes, there was no light left. There was nothing left, and I knew that. I’d accepted it the second I let go of Rhys’s hand and walked willingly into this trap. 

The question escaped my lips before I could stop myself. It was simple, so simple I never stopped and thought to wonder about it, had never let myself overthink exactly what was going on around me.

“Why?”

Even Amarantha seemed taken aback by the answer. She blinked once, twice. “Why?” She repeated, uncertainly. It was a tone she used sparsely. 

“Why Queen of Prythian? Why take over these lands when Hybern could be yours?”

Amarantha swallowed, her eyes narrowing in and out of focus. She stood, turning away from me and pacing up and down the length of the fireplace, eyes trained upon the crowns sitting on her mantle. I thought she’d forgotten my question and nearly flinched when she answered. 

“Besides Jurian and Clythia? Besides the Great War, and Myriam and Drakon?” She chuckled as if she was reminiscing, and I could only keep quiet as I watched her anger unfold, ichor leaking from her eyes and poisoning the air around her. 

“I was born here in Prythian. Nearly eight hundred years ago, I was born in the North into a Court of Nightmares, shunned by my Night Court mother and Autumn Court father for being timid, gaunt, weak. What they didn’t know was that my second oldest brother had been starving me, torturing me, cruelty in ways you could never even begin to imagine, girl. My oldest brother had run. I tried to escape but the city guard caught me. When I was apprehended and brought to the High Lord, Votto took a liking to me.” She blinked. “I was his prisoner, his _plaything_ , for nearly twenty years.”

“Votto was Rhysand’s father?”

She nodded, considering, eyes wandering across the rack of jewels and necklaces. “Rhysand always thought that our paths crossed by chance. He thought I tortured him for sport. It was Votto I was after, though. Always Votto. And even after he died, I thought I’d make him roll in his grave by making his son fuck me for all those years just like he made me do for him.”

My mouth was open, disbelieving of the onslaught of information.

“The first opportunity I had to run, I took it. But, instead of running to the Dawn Court as my brother did, I went to Hybern. Inducted into the army. I _fought_ and _bled_ and _ruined_ myself so that I could one day pay a visit to all who had ruined me and show them exactly what the darkness had shown me. The King wanted to enslave the humans. I hate the miscreants too, and they’ll make exquisite slaves, but that’s not what I’m after. We made a deal that if I won him that war, then he’d give me reign of Prythian. So when the Night Court swooped in _again_ and took that away from me, when Feyre got me _killed_ , in those last dying moments I made a vow that I would make them pay. 

“But the King resurrected me. I was his back-up plan from the beginning. He told me of the origins of the spell and where to find the Mother’s resting place, that he’d been raiding Helion’s libraries for months trying to find the myths and legends written around it. He kept me in hiding all these years as a fail safe should he lose the war. And so when he did, his mission fell onto me. Only I had a personal stake in it.” She brushed a finger along the mantle of the fire place and flicked away the dust that collected on her finger. “I’m going to make Rhys, Feyre, the Night Court and this entire land pay for what they’d done.”

I blinked. Once, twice. “You were… you were born in the Night Court…”

She laughed as she met my eyes. “Something Rhysand failed to mention while you stayed with his vile son?” She laughed. “Of course he would. He has no recollection of my existence up until the Great War. Votto was good at keeping secrets.”

The pieces clicked together, and the breath was stolen from my lungs. “Your parents were Autumn and Night. You’re Sadian’s sister. You’re… you’re my…”

“Your mother’s aunt,” she completed. “You haven’t been calling me aunt Am your whole life just for fun, my precious.” 

The world was spinning. I was gripping the vanity chair, afraid I would fall. Amarantha…

She was my aunt. My _aunt_. 

She snapped her fingers and the orb was back, smoke cleared and ready to take me in. “Get some rest, darling. Tomorrow is going to be an eventful day.”

In a daze, I stood from the chair and padded over to the orb, blinking, trying to process. I didn’t even say goodnight before stepping in to be carried down the hall and delivered back to my cell. 

Papa was already there, perched on the slab of rock that laid in the middle of the room. His face filled with concern when our eyes met, and I only took a few steps out of the orb before he was there pulling me into his side. I could only blink, still trying to process what’d happened. 

“Amarantha’s my aunt,” I said, unable to say the words without thinking they were lies. 

Papa sighed. “Did they get you again, Keke? We’ve been over this. She’s not your aunt. Carrick isn’t your mate. Milo’s your mate. The Night Court—”

“Papa, I know. I’m still aware. It’s not the charade, she is…” I looked up into his eyes, a reflection of mine etched with worry. “She is Mama’s aunt. Sadian’s sister.”

Papa’s brow furrowed as I began to explain. As I went along, reiterating everything she’d told me in her chambers, Papa grew more and more confused, then he himself had to sit down to process the information. 

And all Papa could do was put his head in his hands and say, “Oh, gods. Oh, rutting, rutting gods.”

*

Milo

Everything hurt. 

Everything was sore and numb and aching. My stomach was on fire, and my lips were parched and dry. I could barely open my eyes, but my lips formed the same word over and over again. _Water, water, water, water._

The liquid fell upon my lips and I gasped as I choked it down. It soothed my throat, soothed the ache in my chest, but the stinging pain didn’t cease. I groaned and shifted where I laid on the cot, drenched in sticky sweat, feeling my muscles sigh in relief when they peeled off. They laid prostrate for what could’ve been hours, days. I blinked against the soft light of the lamp. 

Days. If I’d been sleeping for days, then Keorah—

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s just us.” A voice said from next to me. A hand wrapped around mine and squeezed. The breath rushed out of me and I squeezed my mother’s slender, calloused hand. When my eyes opened, she was there, a small, dreary smile on her face. 

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her eyes met mine. Dad was at my other side, face grim, hand on my shoulder. I looked down at my wrapped stomach, grimacing slightly at the blood on the bandage. “How long have I been out?”

“A day,” my father replied. “We storm the Mountain tomorrow.”

I swallowed hard when I met his eyes. “I’m going with you. I don’t care what you say.”

Dad grinned, but it seemed forced, strained. “I know, Milo. I know.”

He squeezed my hand once more. And when I looked down, that’s when I realized the bleary eyes and watery smiles weren’t because I’d been stabbed after the ambush. No, realized because my scars, my cuts, they were right there. In plain sight. 

My glamour was gone. 

My body must’ve loosened it due to my nearly-fatal injuries. I’d been able to keep it on last time when my shoulder had been nicked, or when Carrick shot the arrow, but this time the weakness and blood loss had gotten the best of me. 

Like mental shields snapping up, my glamour settled back across my skin, heart pounding in my chest.

“What…what is this Milo?” Mum asked. There was a disbelief rooted deep in her eyes, like she couldn’t accept, couldn’t understand what was going on with her son. Like she _refused_ to understand what was going on with her son. 

She looked at me like a feral creature. Exactly as I thought she would, exactly how I thought everyone would. 

I hadn’t realized how shallow my breaths had gotten. I was choking, everything within me was seizing. I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t even know what to _say_. How could I explain the darkness that ran through my veins? How could I explain that I was so fucked up that I needed to _hurt_ myself even more so I could feel even an inkling of relief? How could I explain that instead of making the _rational_ conclusion that _other_ people are fucked up, and they should be punished or strung up or gutted for what they’d done, I punished _myself_ for being _weak_. For ever being _hurt_ in the first place; for ever putting myself in that situation. I punished _myself_ , and I hated _myself_ , and I felt I deserved every _cut_ and _slice_ and _drop_ _of_ _blood_. Or, on days when the heaviness got really bad and I couldn’t even breathe without feeling like the _entire fucking universe was caving in on my body_ , that the only fucking thing that made me feel like a normal being on this earth was feeling that blade glide down my skin and the rush of adrenaline through my veins. 

All this passed through my mind, and not a single word came out. 

“ _What is this Milo_?” Mum asked again. This time, her voice had a shrill to it, like the silence was fraying her veins, like if I didn’t answer her question then she could set off at any second. 

I winced, my eyes closing slightly, unable to meet her eyes without wanting to crawl into myself and rot away. 

“Feyre,” Dad said quietly. 

“Don’t,” Mum breathed, not even looking at me anymore, but spitting venom at dad. “He has been shutting us out for the past five gods-damned years and I am sick of it, Rhys. I am sick of this silence and secrets and the brushing us off.” She finally turned to me, her hands releasing mine so she could point to me as a whole with them. “Look at him, for the Mother’s sake. He is going to kill himself someday, and we wouldn’t have even _noticed_.”

It was like everything at once released. The pressure in my chest, the tears in my eyes, the clenching of my muscles. 

Even dad remained silent, unsure how to answer. The words left a bitter, sour note in the air that made my tongue heavy and slow. How could I answer that? How the fuck could I even begin to respond to that?

“Milo,” mum said. Regret stained her voice an ugly, pitiful colour. I tried to muster some sort of reply, some sort of explanation that could fix this.

I couldn’t. 

So, in turn, I closed my eyes and focused myself downwards on my abdomen. Though it would drain my energy already more than it had been after the killing blow I’d delivered at the ambush, I let my healing magic flow nonetheless. The pain beating upon me became bearable, manageable, and I pushed back the blankets, ignoring my parents’ protests, ignoring their shouts and screams and words because all they were were baskets of falsities and repeats, cries I’d heard so many times over the course of my life I couldn’t even begin to count them. Because each and every single time, when I turned to one direction and put one foot in front of the other, marching away from them, they did not stop me. 

And, just like those uncountable times before, they did not stop me as I marched out of the tent and into the Illyrian camp site. 

*

I couldn’t breathe. 

Everything was choking me, strangling me like that thick black smoke of the fires. I needed fresh air, I needed some space just so I could fucking breathe—

People shot me wary glances as I stumbled around the camp, illuminated only by the sparse, tame fires. Evidently, fire was now a wary thing for the warriors. They paid me no heed, though, as I trudged along the outskirts of the unfamiliar location of the campsite and finally found what I was looking for behind a thicket of well blanketed trees. 

The trickling of the stream settled my nerves as I stumbled along the embankment of the water. I’d luckily had trousers on when I left the tent, but my torso laid bare due to the bandage wrapped around my abdomen. The blood had staunched and the wound had capped over with a scab. My fingers peeled away the white gauze secured tightly around me and some of the pressure on my chest began to release. My breaths were shallow, uneven, and I knew I was going to combust or scream or simply cease to function if I couldn’t get myself under control right now. 

I didn’t know what drove me to do it. All I knew was that my feet were running, running for the water, then I was under. 

The cold of the water encased my body in a state of relaxation. It worked away at my mind, my nerves, my breath until I was perfectly still, floating upon the surface, limbs unmoving. My lungs burned for the sweet release of oxygen, but I denied them, telling them that this peace, this stillness right here, was better. That if I ceased to move, to breathe, to feel—it would be better. Anything would be better than going back into that camp, into that tent, into the reality that stared me right in the face. 

The secret I’d hidden for years was on the table right now, waiting for itself to be explained, waiting for me to own up to who I was and what I’d done. 

But I was too much of a coward to even face the people I’d hidden myself from. The people who’d protected me, loved me, given me life. The people I was supposed to love and trust unconditionally looked at me today like I was a stranger in their midst. 

Because perhaps that’s what I’d become for them. A stranger wandering their halls, a stranger who’d replaced their son, their good, strong boy with a ghost full of shadows and agony and silence. 

But most of all, I couldn’t face what’d been done to me. 

I couldn’t own up to the fact that I’d let myself be taken advantage of my entire childhood. I couldn’t own up to the fact that I was a coward and didn’t fight back when somebody had hurt me. Had continued to hurt me, nearly my entire life. 

That was the pain on my skin, the pain in my heart, that was best left unsaid. 

Unsaid, no longer. Sooner or later, the truth would break free, and I would have to own up to the cowardice. And I wasn’t sure what was worse—owning up to it, or having to watch their crumpled faces and cries of un-love, how I knew they would accuse me of not being able to trust them—

My thoughts were interrupted by hands wrapping around my shoulders. I was roughly ripped from where I’d lay prostrate in the water, somebody’s warm, large body treading behind me as they held onto me so that my head was above the surface.

My lungs cried in ecstasy as I gulped air down greedily. The night echoed with the reverberations of my laboured breaths. The water wasn’t deep, I could feel the muddy creek bed at the tips of my toes, but I let the unknown person hold me up for a few moments longer before swimming in shallower on my own. They let go, but followed close behind nonetheless. Once I could stand in the waist-high water, I turned to see the stranger. 

My eyes met Oris’s, and I froze. 

Fear paralyzed me, made me dead on my feet. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t speak or scream or do anything because he was _here_ , he was _next to me_ and we were alone in the dark as we’d been to many times before. 

There was a sneer already upon his lips. “Night swim, Milo? There are some dangerous creatures roaming the stream banks. Should be a little more careful.”

I said nothing, only tried to calm my rapid breath and heartbeat. 

This could not be happening. _This could not be happening_ —

He approached nearer, and I tried to force my legs to move but his hand was already clamped down on my shoulder, steadying me where I was with an immovable iron grip. I knew those hands. I knew how they gripped, I knew the pads of his fingers and the callouses on his palms. 

I knew how they felt against my bare skin. I hated that I knew how they felt against my bare skin. 

He leaned down, down until his lips were in my ear, whispering, “Just one more. For old time’s sake.” His wings flared out and wrapped around us, shadowing me from the moonlight, encompassing me in darkness. 

My eyes shuddered closed as the hand on my shoulder travelled farther down my back until it was there at the waistband of my pants. 

His fingers settled against my my backside. As they’d done many, many times before. 

It was that single movement that made me explode. 

Rage is a beautiful, terrible thing. Rage moves people. Rage creates people, rage destroys people. 

And today, rage destroyed me. Rage destroyed Oris. 

Rage made my hands into tools of death. Rage made me lift my fingers and press them against Oris’s chest. Rage and magic and wrath made my fingers plunge into Oris’s chest against the resistance of his flesh and bone, and rip his heart out. 

His eyes met mine. They were wide, paralyzed with fear and awe, disbelieving of the act I’d just committed. And I stared back defiantly, daring him to fight back, daring him to do anything at all except keel over. Just like in that alley when I’d dragged the knife down his face, I held my ground, determination, steel and the gods’ wills giving me every ounce of strength to do so.

The blood was sticky and warm in my hand as he slumped back and down, wings falling away to let the moonlight in, splashing my face as his body floated within the water of the stream. The moonlight shone upon his skin, pale and ghastly, his eyes wide open as he began to wander downstream with the current. 

Unmoving. 

Dead. 

I looked down to the heart in my hand, limp without a body to pump for. 

I was calm. I was completely calm and sturdy as I walked back to shore and laid the heart gently upon the rocks of the embankment. 

And when I looked up, ready to go back into camp and curl into myself all over again, I met my Azriel’s eyes. I’d known Azriel all my life, and never had I seen him slack jawed. 

I only stared back at him. Silent.

*

Keorah

“What was Mama like?”

He smiled. “You know what she was like.”

I rolled my eyes. “I meant before you had me. When things were…better.”

A shadow passed over his eyes when he realized what I meant. Before he’d turned bad. Before Amarantha sunk her claws into his mind.

Papa’s face grew reminiscent, peaceful. He couldn’t meet my eyes, but he said, “There wasn’t a moment that I couldn’t feel your mother’s presence. She always kept busy, whether it was out with friends or in the pubs or up keeping her private garden by the side of the manor. Whenever people saw her, they blossomed. She was…” he swallowed hard. “She was larger than life.”

There were unsaid words there: _Until I came along. Until I did what I did. Until I drove her to the depths of despair._

To calm the tenseness in his shoulders, I said, “It wasn’t your fault, Papa. You know that, right?”

“Every time I ever laid a hand on either of you, I wanted to die. I would have rathered death than ever causing you hurt. Especially when Mama took the berries.”

I remained silent. I didn’t know what to say, how to answer. The line between us was so oddly drawn, I was unable to discern at times the relationship established between us. I remembered the way Papa used to be, the way I loved him before he went bad. 

“That day in the manor when you revealed you’d been with Milo,” he said quietly, eyes softer than before, “did you do it on purpose?”

It was hard to revisit those times. When I had nothing, when I was just a lonely girl in the Spring Court with her title and family stripped of her. I’d been caged and beaten and broken into complacence without a hope for any kind of future. A different kind of hopelessness and despair than the one I felt now. 

Now, it was just…acceptance. I’d given myself up for a reason, I’d lived what short amount I had with people I loved, and there was really nothing else I could ask for. I knew it was too late to be saved. Death was only a few short hours away, and I was ready. 

“I was thinking about it for a while,” I admitted, picking at the skin around my fingers. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “even before Mama died. I’d been promised so many things as my birthright only for them to be taken away from me one by one. And when things with you got worse…” I shrugged my shoulders. “There were days where not even minutes would go by and I’d think about ways to die.”

When I looked up, tears trailed down Papa’s face. He brushed them away, only for more to replace them. 

“Even though there is no way I could take it back, I wish that somehow I could erase it all. I wish I could give you the childhood you deserve, I wish I could’ve been the father you deserved. Because you are such a brilliant, bright and good person Keorah…” He choked near the end and suddenly there were tears on my cheeks as well, wishing all the same things, wishing I could’ve known my father and who he truly was; not the monster he’d been painted to be. “But most of all, I wish I could give you a longer life to live. I have tried and been down every dead end, but it seems there is no other plan than what we’ve got.”

I nodded my head. “It’ll work, Papa. I can do this.”

“I don’t want you to do this.” His hand reached out to cup my cheek and my eyes closed. No, I didn’t want to do this either. There was a hurricane within my soul once before, ready to wreak to upheave and seek revenge on all the wrong that’d been done to me. There was a drive to protect my family, protect myself, protect my future. But now, I was tired of always being the one _doing_ , _saving_ and _fighting_ and _convincing_ everyone around me to help along the way. But I was going to do this, anyway, because like Papa said, there was no other choice. 

And that fight, that drive, it was still in me. Buried beneath the despair and the weight of a lifetime ahead of me that I’d never see. 

“I know. But I can do it. We can do this.” My hand covered his. 

And for a few moments, we stayed like that, the warmth in his hand spreading across my cold cheeks before a guard came in and interrupted us with a gravelly voice and a stiff warning. Papa only stood, leaned down to kiss my forehead, then left without another word. 

I was in my cell, alone. Counting down the seconds until Mama and I would be together again. 

*

Milo

Azriel took calm, quiet steps towards me. There was no panic or worry, pity or concern in his eyes. Only cool understanding as he looked from me to the still-warm blood coating my hands. There was a certain relief settling into my muscles. One that I’d craved for so, so long. 

I watched Azriel and he watched me. 

Silence reigned before the male cleared his throat. “Sit.”

I blinked and sat without thinking twice about it. As though everything hit me at once, the wind rushed out of me and my mind was hazy with confusion and disbelief. I killed him. I killed Oris. 

“Breathe,” Azriel commanded softly. He’d closed the distance between us and settled upon the rocks at my side, both of us facing the trickling water and the reflection of the moon’s rays upon its glassy surface. I hadn’t realized before he said it that I was choking, I was going to drown without even being in the water, that I’d taken a life without even blinking my eyes—

Azriel’s hand settled on my shoulder and I flinched. Instantly, he peeled it back and rustled his wings as he shifted to face me. I couldn’t even see him because I was falling, I was falling into myself and I was seeing white—

“You need to calm yourself down. Right now. Remember your training.”

I couldn’t remember my training. I couldn’t because all my training revolved around him, and my mind filled with images of him and his heavy, wet breath in my ear—

Then there was this sensation along my skin. It was slick but soft, warm and feather light, dancing up my arms and curling around my shoulder. My entire body paused at the feeling, and I looked to my shoulders and biceps to see that there were shadows there dancing, swirling all around me. They seemed almost…happy in their demeanour and the way they moved. Puffs of dark matter slithered through the air and wrapped around my body. I nearly grinned. 

Then realized how much I’d relaxed in those few seconds of distraction. My heartbeat calmed and I was righted once more, vision restored and breathing corrected. I released a sigh and the rest of the pressure in my chest deflated along with the puff of air that curled and clouded into the cold night. 

“Better?” Azriel asked quietly. I nodded solemnly and curled my knees into my chest. 

For a few minutes, neither of us said anything. I focused on everything around me like the foliage in the trees and the dew-covered grass to the smaller water creatures wading within the stream or padding lazily along the shoreline. Anything but the thoughts roaming around the back of my mind and the darkness that awaited me there. 

Then my uncle murmured, “I saw, Milo. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

I swallowed, avoiding his eyes as they tried to meet mine. 

I couldn’t hide it forever. I knew that. And looking at Az’s hands, knowing that he had scars, that he showed them and bared all unapologetically, I loosened my glamour and the perfect, smooth skin fell away to reveal the tattoos. 

And beneath that, the miles and miles of scars. 

Azriel didn’t bat an eye. He’d seen far, far worse, I was sure. And his tone was almost curious when he asked, “Why?”

“That’s a broad question,” I remarked drily, hands digging into the rocks and letting them fall between my fingers. They pattered to the ground with small, light satisfying noises. 

“Why kill him?”

The words ricocheted within my heart. Kill him. Because though there was no body to witness his death, there was a bloody heart only a few feet away from us on the beach, and my hand was sticky and slick. I felt like his shadow was still looming over me. 

As always, the words were on the tip of my tongue. They were right there, and I wanted to scream them at the top of my lungs. 

But I opened my mouth, and the words stayed stuck at the back of my throat. I swallowed hard and parted my lips once more, but…

There was no saying what’d happened to me. This wasn’t like with Keorah, who’d seen the darkness and accepted it, who’d loved me unconditionally with the soul-binding bond between us despite all we’d surpassed. Opening up about this with somebody like Azriel, who’d been there on the many dinner nights at the Illyrian cottage with Oris, who’d assisted in our hunts together in the Steppes, who’d been there nearly my entire time training up North and not known what’d been happening right in front of their eyes. He was there, and if he’d known, he could’ve stopped it. Whereas Keorah was only a witness to the aftermath of the implosion of my sanity. 

I couldn’t tell him, but, I could show him. Bits and pieces. Enough to understand what’d happened. 

So, I creeped along the edge of my mental shields and sent my thoughts to Azriel’s consciousness. He sensed me and reluctantly let me slip into a small alcove of his thoughts. Once there, I took a deep breath, and showed him. 

The friendship. The trust. The control. 

The rape. 

I’d never said the word, but that’s what it was. Oris had raped me. Over, and over. 

The fallout. The misery. Then, the cutting. The blood. The despair. 

And when I retreated, once I was seeing through my own eyes once more, the shadows in Azriel’s eyes had dimmed. Even the ones curled around the shell of his ear, the ones that’d been playful and delightful minutes ago, seemed somber. As though they’d seen the pain as well, and knew. 

Azriel merely murmured, “I’m sorry.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“It was my job to protect you,” he shook his head in disgust. His features contorted with rage. “It was my job to keep watch over you. And that swine snuck right in without our noticing.”

“It’s not your fault.” I said once more. I couldn’t blame him for not noticing Oris. Though there was a sicker side of me that resented the whole lot of them for not noticing anything, I still kept it to myself. “I didn’t say anything either.”

“You were a child, Milo. You probably didn’t even know what to say. Or how to say it.” Tentatively, his hand reached out to settle on my upper arm. I didn’t flinch this time. Instead, I drew nearer to his side until his arm curled around my shoulder. 

We sat quietly for a while. It was…it was liberating. Knowing that Azriel knew and didn’t balk. He saw everything that’d happened, everything I’d done and been done to me and just…accepted. 

Unconditional. That’s what family was, after all. Something I tended to forget. 

Under the blanket of stars and moonlight, Azriel promised, “I won’t say anything, Milo. Unless you want me to.”

To which I replied, “Let’s get through tomorrow first."

"Indeed," he said with a wry smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back home finally with a stable wifi connection! We're nearing the last few chapters folks, so buckle up and get some tissues!  
> Hope you're all still enjoying this.  
> Have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat


	8. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of y'all ready for this. Keorah, Milo, Tamlin, and the Inner Circle are about to do some serious ass-kicking.

_CHAPTER 30_

 

Azriel

If Azriel had known Oris’s true colours, he would’ve made the male’s death much slower. Much, much slower, and so painful that even the Mother Herself would wince.

That’s what he kept telling himself as they marched through the unclaimed Middle territory of Prythian, each step bringing them closer to chaos. They had no idea what they were walking into, and the scouts they’d sent reported back with equal confusion and blindness. There was no activity on the outside of the mountain, and all entrances were sealed. That magic could be broken by Helion, who’d joined their forces at early Dawn this morning along with Thesan, Tarquin, Kallias and Vivianne. The Summer and Winter courts’ smaller forces were converging in the centre border of their territories then marching north as we marched south. 

Azriel’s mind scarcely wandered or strayed from his current missions, movements or thoughts. He’d grown to master his emotions and concentration after years of honing himself through dire situations when his life and his court’s status was on the line. But after seeing what Milo had undergone through his childhood in Illyria, it was nearly impossible for Azriel _not_ to think about that. The images and memories Milo had shown him flashed through his mind over and over again. 

Nearly every time the image of Oris and exactly how he’d abused Milo came about, Azriel resisted the urge to wince. 

The Illyrians were a brutal, unkind people. They valued violence, strength, pure blood lineage and pride. All the weaklings or outcasts who slipped through the cracks of their loosely woven net of social normalities were the ones most at risk of crimes and violence like these. Milo was especially at risk for being a High Lord’s son, as Rhys was when they were children. But Milo… he hadn’t had friends to fall back on to stick their necks out for him. He didn’t have anybody else to protect him besides his family, and they weren’t there with the rest of the training warriors to witness what’d happened. 

It was a shortcoming on Azriel’s behalf. A failure to himself, to his title, to his court, but most of all, to his nephew, who he’d sworn to serve and protect. 

After speaking Azriel’s conversation with the younger male, Milo had fled secretly to his tent and avoided Rhys’s wrath. Feyre had been wracked with panic and concern and nearly clocked Azriel in the jaw when he refused to answer their questions. Spymaster he may be, but Azriel’s honour was to his nephew’s secrets. He knew that if it were himself in the situation, he’d want his privacy respected. No matter how much it killed him to see Rhys nearly in tears at the prospect of his son so unwilling to speak with him. 

Nonetheless, Azriel kept his mouth shut. Because he knew that conversation was going to be one of the worst in Milo’s life. 

And Milo knew it, because he was far, far ahead today at the front lines, putting as much distance between him and his parents as possible. Even Cassian’s brows had raised when the boy had raced away from all of them to find the head of the battalion. 

These thoughts were what kept him company as the hours slowly went by and the sun rose upon the fields and forests. The pine trees were growing thicker together, rendering the passage much narrower for the troops. 

They were approaching. Everyone could feel the ancient magic upon these grounds, how they laid untouched in the years they’d been unoccupied. Only the beasts of the woods and faeries of the elements claimed these lands where the law of the fittest reigned. 

And right now, that person was Amarantha. Soon would be, anyway, if they didn’t get there fast enough. 

Suddenly on a Northern gust of wind, a shadow leaned in closer to Azriel’s ear. The familiarity of it made it so he didn’t even bat an eye as those withering whispers announced, _There are men, women and children surrounding the mountain._

Azriel’s brows narrowed in concentration. That didn’t make any sense. He sent back, _From which court?_

The answer only came a few beats later. _Spring. A soldier tried to approach one. They slit their own throats._

Azriel breathed out a sigh. This meant none of them could make an advance on the mountain without risking the lives of innocents. Guilt was a powerful tool. He knew that Amarantha was aiming this at Feyre, with her human heart of kindness and empathy. She’d do everything in her capability to minimize the deaths as much as possible. Azriel only responded a quick _thank you_ to his source before quickening his pace to find Rhys. 

_Of course that bitch was going to make this as difficult as possible_ , Azriel thought. _Of course._

*

Keorah

I was not afraid. 

There was no fear trembling in my bones as I walked down the narrow halls for the final time and into the belly of the mountain. There were no qualms or worries plaguing my mind as my feet stood for the last time, as I took my last few breaths, as I tried to take in as much life as I could before it was over. I embraced the musty scent of the earth. I closed my eyes and focused on the dampness coating my skin and the goosebumps that trailed along my forearm the colder it got as we travelled deeper and deeper into the ground. Or the feel of the cold against my bare feet, because they’d forgotten to give me shoes today. 

Not that a dead body would need shoes, anyway. 

As I walked through the mountain with the distant sounds of screams and cries of agony, I finally let my thoughts shift to my mate. I hadn’t let myself think of him at all during the entirety of my stay here. Doing so was too painful, because even just recalling his smile made me miss him so much I could barely breathe. 

But I let myself think of his smile. And the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he did so, or how the stars and night floating around him seemed almost delightful when he was in a good mood. I let myself think of his arms around me, his hands on my body, his lips on mine. 

I thought of his laugh. His humour, and how he always managed to squeeze a smile out of me, even on my bad days. 

I thought of his bad days and the darkness associated with them. I thought of his pain, the source of it and how he’d coped with it for so many years. I thought of the light we’d found together, and how we’d attempted to be better, to feel better for each other, if only for a little while. 

It was completely and utterly unfair that we only had the limited time. I wanted to tear this mountain down, curse the gods, curse the Mother Herself and the shit hand she’d dealt the both of us. But no matter the time frame, no matter the injustice of it all…just meeting him, being with him, loving him… it was enough. 

It was a gift. All of it. A gift. 

Besides, there were people waiting for me to cross to the other side. Mama and Vesna and the people I’d killed, from whom I could hopefully beg their forgiveness. Though it was far too early, I was ready to be done with life. 

The same musty scent greeted me along with the same grand room. There were only three people in the room excluding me and the two guards flanking my side: Amarantha, Carrick and the slave daemati that’d rendered my mind control. 

My eyes widened. If she took one peek into my mind, she’d see crystal clarity. Not the life she’d expertly painted for me. 

I checked my mental shields and focused on adding as much reinforcements to them as I could. I pictured a wall of black adamant that nobody could cross, and prayed for the best. 

This plan banked on my complacence. We couldn’t fail now in the last hour. 

A wave of Amarantha’s hand and the guards were gone. I was left alone, standing across from them, unsure where to go. I only stared at Amarantha’s usual black leathers, eyes wandering to the red detailing on the side. Then to Carrick whose hands held the velvet pedestal where the Dagger of Destruction and Salvation laid precariously, casting its glow upon the dim room with its stark white and hauntingly dark lights.

Her lips curved into a smile. This was the moment she’d been waiting for for decades. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was feeling right now. 

I couldn’t even begin to imagine the fury she will be feeling once I was done with her. 

“Keorah,” she said, “it is time.”

The lump in my throat grew, and I choked as I said, “Yes, it is.”

Amarantha’s contented sigh skittered along my bones. I clenched my fists to hide their trembling. She said, “Get in the water.”

The only other sound in the room besides our voices was the fast, heavy stream of water trailing from one side of the room to the other. It passed beneath the engraved sarcophagus and dissected the room. Today, the water level was nearly thrice as higher as last time, almost as if it knew today was of significance to Prythian’s history. 

Because if I’d kept track right, today was Nynsar. Today was my birthday. 

My eighteenth year on this earth. My last year on this earth. 

The caked dirt on my foot seemed to vanish as soon as I stepped into the clear, cold water. The second foot followed. 

“Kneel,” she said. My knees fell to the water, and my head bowed, ready to accept the fate bestowed upon me. The water was cold against my skin as it crashed against my legs. There was a restorative feel to it, like it was healing me though I had no injuries. Strength flowed through my muscles; my mind felt sharper. 

Then something else happened. A different kind of wave washed over me, like it did in the throne room after plunging the dagger into my chest. 

My magic. My magic was back, flowing through my veins, infusing me with hope and light and determination. 

The bond was there too, but I kept it blank. I couldn’t distract Milo or give him a false sense of hope. If I was going to die, I was going to make it as painless as I could for the both of us. 

Papa told me to stand down. To stick to the plan and stray from any deviance, because that would only lead to more problems. 

But I knew Milo was out there. I knew he was here, ready to storm through. I would give him the peace of mind that he tried to fight to save me. And most of all, I would give Rhys and Feyre the chance to do as they pleased with Amarantha for all the pain and suffering and misery they had endured at her hand. 

Carrick shuffled as Amarantha lifted her hands, palms facing me, and began uttering words in a language I couldn’t decipher. My eyes flicked to him as he glanced at Amarantha with a look of wonder. 

Carefully, I cast myself towards him. The walls surrounding his mind were cloaked in smoke and darkness and an ancient, unholy aura that chilled my blood. Despite every instinct within me screaming to retreat, I willed myself to become Carrick, to blend into the darkness, to embody the vileness and immorality that seeped off of him. 

Without resistance, I slipped in. 

There were too many thoughts running around his mind. I rifled through them all, trying not to linger on the ones that made my stomach curdle, like certain fantasies involving me that had me resisting the urge to vomit. 

I sifted through thoughts of the mountain until I came across an image of an overhead view of the mountain. People were lined across the perimeter of the base of the mountain, standing mindlessly, eyes void and empty. Carrick must’ve been flying, because the sound of flapping wings was all I heard as a soldier far below approached the line of people. An Illyrian solider, I realized by the protruding bat wings. 

Hope surged in my chest. Surged then plummeted as that soldier got too close, and the person nearest to him stepped forward, pulled his dagger out and slit his own throat. 

Carrick’s mind drifted to the daemati with us. She was currently controlling them all with her thoughts, using them as a human shield to ward off any intruders. If anyone else approached, innocent men, women and children—all of the Spring Court—would take their own lives. 

My gut roiled. I needed to break that hold. I needed to break the hold on the people, and take down the wards protecting the entrance to the mountain so the outside army could infiltrate. 

This was my only chance. I loosed a breath and slowly retreated from Carrick’s mind. 

Only to find the slave girl’s eyes piercing through mine. They were filled with agony and fury and panic. 

My heart dropped. She knew. She knew I wasn’t under her mind spell. She knew I was completely aware. 

Amarantha was still mumbling, blissfully unaware with her eyes closed. The slave girl turned to look at her master, then looked back to me, face set with determination. 

A soft, quiet voice whispered in my mind, _Kill me._

I did not let my face show the stark confusion filling me. I replied, _What?_

_Kill me_ , she said, _I can’t take it anymore. Just kill me. She’ll never let me get away. I’ve been stuck here for twenty years without any escape._

I remained silent. She was…she wasn’t on Amarantha’s side. She was just a scared, lonely girl, being used for her powers for years on end. 

Reluctantly, I asked, _Are you sure?_

_Yes_ , she nearly choked, _just kill me. It’ll break the mind control on the people outside._

More silence as I hesitated. Another life, more blood on my hands…

_It’s not blood on your hands_ , she said, _I want to die. I’m sure. I’m finished with this life_. 

I paused and locked our eyes together. Hers were filled with tears. I said, _What’s your name?_

_Thelonia_ , she said softly. _My name is Thelonia._

And though taking even one life felt like an abomination, I saw the despair in her eyes. I felt it in her voice as she spoke in my mind. This…this was not indecision. This was a tortured soul, forced to torture many others no doubt, begging for release. 

_Go with peace, Thelonia_ , I murmured in her mind. _Be reunited with the Mother. I will see you soon._

_Thank you,_ she whispered. 

I opened my eyes, and Thelonia was gone. Misted. 

By me. 

Carrick whirled, and I spread my hands, letting my magic course through my palms as I concentrated on the tightly woven wards surrounding the mountain, keeping its doors sealed to the outside world at any cost. My magic spread across it all, all the darkness tightly knit to contain the wicked evil awaiting beneath the rock. 

I latched onto every fibre and thread, and severed them all. 

The reverberations of the shock I’d sent out echoed in my bones. I felt the blast in my teeth and my jaw as it knocked me on my side into the water. Something was blindingly bright, and when my eyes opened in the water, I realized it was my skin glowing starkly with the Day Court’s magic. 

Hands locked around my biceps. The fingers squeezed so hard that I screamed gutturally in pain as I was dragged out of the water and shoved at Amarantha’s feet, hands barely reaching out in time to break the fall. 

She kicked my head up so I could meet her glance, which was filled with a lethal, icy wrath that sent my nerves sprawling with fear. My teeth sang at the impact of her foot against my jaw, and I forced myself to watch as she growled, “You ungrateful wyrm.”

I smiled, and I felt warm liquid dripping down my chin. Blood. “I told you,” I wheezed against the tightness in my breath, “I’d fight you until my last breath.” I spat the blood at her boot-covered feet. “Bitch.”

Her foot came stomping hard upon my temple and I careened into the ground. The blow sent my mind reeling, and my vision darkened around the edges as fingers latched into my hair and began dragging me across the dirt floor. I screamed as my scalp felt as though it was detaching from my skull. 

“Go to the throne room,” I heard from above me. “I’m taking her to the summit.”

It was all I heard before that foot came down against my temple one last time and my eyes fell shut with the impact it. 

*

Milo

Shouts arose from all sides. 

Soldiers of the Winter and Summer Courts had joined rank and blended amongst the Day, Dawn and Night Court sentries all stationed at the bottom of the mountain. Up above, so high they could barely see the winged figures amongst the clouds, the aerial fleet waited for orders as the kept watch for any sentries hidden in the woods, lest Amarantha had another surprise ambush planned. 

I had taken one look at the mighty mountain and felt its ancient magic settle on me like a second itchy skin. This used to be a sacred, untouched place in Prythian where Priestesses would often come to pray to the Cauldron or the Mother. No one had breached the walls of the mountain for hundreds of years before Amarantha had carelessly invaded it and claimed it as her own, creating tunnels and rooms fit for a palace of evil and corruption. 

I stared at it now as the cacophony surrounding me ebbed and flowed. Helion was in heated conversation with my mother, father and Cassian discussing what his spell-cleavers could do. He said though the wards were complex, he and a team of his finest soldiers could potentially work through it and enable passage through the entrance at the Mountain’s base. What he couldn’t do was liberate the people surrounding the entrance—and the perimeter of the base of the mountain—from the daemati’s hooks within their minds. He was not practiced in such magic, and since the person who was controlling likely wasn’t standing amongst the mind-slaves, dad couldn’t do much either. 

I only heard drifts of the conversation. I’d managed to avoid them most of the day, and would continue to do so. At least until some of the hurt and betrayal left their eyes. Until mum could look at me without tears filling her eyes. Or maybe until Keorah was free and my sanity finally returned. 

They’d been stationed outside the mountain long before dawn, and now the sun slowly began to crest over the rocky slopes, its rays trying to creep through the tufts of clouds overcasting above. I stood outside the meeting tent, my foot tapping against the hard dirt. 

She was there. She was less than two hundred feet away, and I had to wait outside like an idiot. 

She could be dead already for all I knew. Amarantha could already be crowned Queen of Prythian, and all this would’ve been for naught. 

The thoughts were enough to have me storm into the tent. If dad was surprised to see me facing him, he did not let an inkling of it show as we stood amongst the other High Lords and Ladies who had collected as well. 

“Let me cleave the damn spell.” I demanded. My voice was rough from misuse. The last words I’d spoken were to Azriel when we’d wished each other a good night’s rest in preparation for the battle tomorrow.

Kallias closed his eyes and sighed. “Rhysand, I know your son has been very involved with the preparations for this, but please put a muzzle on him.”

The sentiment seemed to be mutual for the others who were poured over maps highlighting the seven different entrances that lead to Under the Mountain. It would be a waste of energy to relocate to those areas, not to mention there was no time left on their hands, and they could’ve been warded with the same mind-controlled people as well. 

Cassian only put his hand on my shoulder and began to lead me back out. “They’re doing their best, Milo. Give them some time to work something out.”

“It’s been hours!” I shot back. I pointed to the mountain and said, “I will break the wards. I’ll go up there and disarm the mind controlled people. Just let me do _something_ instead of standing out there and waiting for us to be enslaved.”

“Don’t you think we’ve tried?” Hellion snapped. “I am much, much older than you and more experienced than you will ever be with wards and spells. The wards cannot be disarmed because she has a protection spell upon them that only her magic and her essence can alter. We have tried disarming the faeries, and all they do is snap their own necks.” The fire burning within Hellion’s eyes was enough to decimate the miles and miles of fields across the Day Court. “So do not tell us we are not trying. Do not—”

A loud, jarring blast sounded in the distance. It shook the mountain, shook the very earth beneath me. Silence settled upon the tent before everybody rushed for the exit and we were amongst the other gawking warriors. 

A bright, stark beam of magic had burst from the summit. The essence of the powerful blow remained, and the sharp metallic smell of magic coated the air. It was so thick I had to close my mouth to block out the taste. 

But there were other undertones beneath the commonly shared smell of metal. Magic carried people’s essences, their scents, and this blast…

It was as familiar as the back of my hand. 

Fresh roses. Roses and vanilla rain. 

My limbs were already set into a run when cries sounded from the base of the mountain. The faeries circled there began running, running towards us. Soldiers at the front lines readied their weapons, given orders to injure only should the mind-controlled fae finally attacked. Yet, as they neared, it was clear the look on their faces was not battle-worn determination. It was fear, and beneath that, confusion, and the scene exploded into chaos as they demanded to know what’d happened, what’d been done, how they’d ended up there. 

“How?” Thesan breathed. I turned to see he was only a few steps behind me, his face struck with awe. 

My mouth twitched up into a half smile. “My mate.” Cassian’s brows furrowed, and I only said, “I can feel it.” Then, without a second thought or word, I set forward in a sprint. 

*

The rest of the warriors had been ordered to charge the entrance. The doors were nearly thirty feet tall, yet when flying up above they would be unnoticeable compared to the sheer size of the behemoth rock it was engraved into. Despite their size, all it took were a few brute shoves from a handful of soldiers and they burst open, only to reveal rows upon rows of Spring and Hybern soldiers alike. 

The lines began crashing. The hundred foot-long entrance hall was dimly lit yet packed to the brim with fae, whether Spring Court or Hybern, and they were armed to the teeth with weapons and and armour. Amarantha had wasted no resources, left room for error. I weaved my way through the soldiers along the sides of the damp rock wall, trying to avoid battle at all costs so I could save time trying to find my mate. No one paid me head as I sailed past the rows of battling bodies. Only as I neared the back of the ever-darkening tunnel did it hit me that the battle was still raging beside me, despite the fact that it was nearly impossible the rest of our sentries could have made it all the way back here. 

That’s when I realized green and gold clad soldiers had turned on Amarantha. The speckles of black began to disappear from the sea of colours tangling before me. A knot loosened within my chest, and it only made my legs pump faster as I reached another set of doors, these ones smaller, yet equally as terrifying as they displayed great winged beasts with fangs the size of my forearms. 

When I pushed against the wood, they wouldn’t budge. No matter how many times I shoved myself against the door, it stood adamantly despite the god-like strength I let flow through my veins. Chest heaving and red in the face, I only raised my hands to the pieces of wood. 

And ripped them clean off the hinges like mere splinters. 

They settled beyond the opening in a cloud of upheaved dust as I stormed through. Other soldiers had made it to where I stood and flooded the entryway, which was dim, small and lead to three different tunnel ways. I looked to each of them, trying to decipher which would lead to a room of significance, any sort of clue that could lead me to her, but yet another element to Amarantha’s advantage: Under the Mountain was a network of winding, twisting tunnels. Tunnels I had never navigated. 

I tried tugging on the bond, but it lay limp, either because Keorah was purposely shutting me out or there was some sort of ward severing the connection.

I stood there like an idiot, disbelieving that after all this, I’d be bested by a tunnel. 

“Your left!” 

The cry echoed over the din of battle behind us, and I didn’t bother questioning the Spring Court soldier further. I only bolted blindly down the dark corridor, the rapid pace of my heartbeat the only sound singing in my ears as my blood roared. I tried tugging on the bond, begging my mate to talk to me, give me a sign, anything—

A dropping sensation curdled in my stomach as I thought of the worst. She could be unconscious from the pain, her mind could be held hostage by the same daemati whose claws had claimed the Spring Court citizens. Or, worse, she could be slowly bleeding out somewhere as Amarantha grew to power—

_Stop_ , I told myself. _Stop_. 

I couldn’t lose my mind. Not now, not when my mate, not when _Prythian_ was counting on me. 

Our story would not end here. Ours was not a story of darkness, pain and despair. Our story was light. It was strength. Our story was love, and happiness, it was elation and all things good and precious in this world, and _I would not let it end here_. 

My legs, if it were even possible, pushed faster down the winding tunnel. Floating on a new sense of determination, I sped down the mile of corridor until the air became thicker and the weight of being underground settled upon my shoulders like a back sack. 

At the final bend, a set of doors came to view. These, like the last I’d encountered, were of mighty black oak and engraved with carvings so wicked and wild a shudder ran down my spine. Yet, as I drank them in, I realized there was a stunning familiarity within them I had not noticed before. 

These were like the doors outside the Court of Nightmares in the Hewn City. They were nearly twins, same except for their size. The Court of Nightmares was thrice as tall as these and much, much older with withered wood and cracks bearing down the centre of them. Despite the odd coincidence, I had no time to linger on the details before raising my hands as I’d done before. 

It took a little more effort and concentration this time with my slowly draining energy, but nonetheless the doors tore from where they’d sat previously and landed behind me this time, making a clear path into what looked like… a throne room. 

The conversation, which hit me in a wave of raucous, ceased as soon as I made the first few steps into the room. Tables were set up along either side of the room, leaving the middle open for dancing along the red marble leading to the raised dais. Fae of all kinds dressed in Hybern fashion and finery adorned these tables, nursing goblets of wine or tankards of ale. The lilting, cacophonous music came to a halt as they tried to assess who exactly had interrupted their celebrations. 

When I looked to the dais, my insides seemed to combust. Whether it was the heat gathering at my hands or just the tamed fury, frustration and wrath that’d been building up within me for months—I didn’t know, I only knew that my vision dimmed and my powers surged as I took in Tamlin, sitting on the edge of the throne, over-looking the crowd with wide, nervous eyes. When our gazes locked, his face blanched. It only made his golden hair seem paler, his green eyes sickly instead of lively as he slouched in his fine emerald tunic and dark pants.

I smirked. All it took was the clenching of my fingers, and the heat gathered there took off in blasts, landing in the centre of the tables nearest to me and setting the cloths on fire. 

Once more, chaos erupted, and my smile grew wider. 

Soldiers began to pour into the room from behind me and the sound of steel clashing against steel rung out. Anybody who stood in my way found themselves incinerated from the inside out as I made my way down the hundred foot distance separating Tamlin from me. Blasts of magic threw fae across the room like rag dolls, and as Winter and Summer sentries filtered in, water and ice scattered across the floor and walls was they impaled or drowned their opponents. 

I did not feel remorse as Hybern bodies began to fall. But most of all, I relished the look on Tamlin’s face as I unsheathed the Illyrian blade strapped to my back, ready to injure Tamlin in just the right place so Keorah could finish him off once she was free. 

There were only ten feet. Ten feet between me and another achingly satisfying swipe of my sword. 

Tamlin stood from the dais, a panicked look overcoming his face. I only gripped the pommel of my sword harder as I lifted it, ready for the downwards swipe of the blade. I knew exactly how it would feel as it glided through the air, exactly the amount of resistance I’d encounter when the edge pierced the flesh, not deep enough to kill, but just enough to have him down for a few hours before Keorah could come back down and be done with the monster who’d haunted her life for good. 

Tamlin looked me in the eyes, panic and despair and dread lining his features. I was ready for him to beg for mercy, to apologize for everything he’d done, to get on his knees and grovel. 

What I wasn’t prepared for was him to stammer, “Angel.”

I blinked. My sword paused in the air. Why, of all things, would he say that? I gripped the sword once more, raising it higher for the perfect angle—

“That’s what you call her. Angel.” He said the words quickly as his eyes stayed focused on my blade, making sure it stayed anywhere but imbedded in his body. “She played the harp for you twice, once at the Spring Court and once more at a theatre in the Night Court.” He swallowed hard when he noticed me lower the weapon ever so slightly at the sound of the strange words he was uttering. “You proposed to her with a harp string. You got married the same night, the night before she left.”

My breaths shuddered out of me as I relived all those moments, the pain and ache of missing her growing tenfold with each memory. “Why are you telling me this? You…” I shook my head in disgust. “You nearly destroyed her. You took everything from her. You bloody well killed her.” The sword raised once more, like my hand already knew the decision I’d settled upon. “Don’t even speak of her.”

“I am not who you think I am, Milo.” He begged. I felt a blast of chilling cold and Tamlin grabbed my shoulder, reeling us to the right and off the dais. On the wall behind him, right where my head was, laid a black stain of dark magic as it collided with the marble. He lead me further away from the carnage in an alcove beyond the throne room, sheltered from the blasts of magic being thrown. I didn’t care that the prick saved my life, I just needed him to shut up. But Tamlin’s eyes still held that same desperation. “Just look in my mind, by the Cauldron. I was the one who ordered my men to turn on Amarantha. I am begging you, Milo, believe me—”

I couldn’t stand the sound of his voice anymore. I wasn’t gentle or careful as I launched myself into his mind and seized control. 

Instantly, I was met with…regret. A darkness so thick and murky even I wanted to summon light to ease the endless void of ancient despair that lined the walls of Tamlin’s mind. I’d expected fury, wrath, a sickness so vile I wanted to gag, but this…

This was similar to my own mind. It was silent, filled with an emptiness so dark my chest hurt. 

Tamlin began to show me the images. One by one, how Amarantha had taken control of his mind. Seized his every thought, action and word to morph it into evil, to create the monster she needed him to be in order to bend and break Keorah into complacence. 

He showed me the stain on his soul. How it ripped him apart every time he hurt them, every time he gave them pain. 

He showed me their tentative reunion over the last week and how they’d been building a plan to save Prythian from being enslaved. A plan that involved…

“No,” I breathed when I exited his mind, dread coiling in my gut, “why on earth would you make her do that?”

“We didn’t have a choice!” Tamlin barked. His eyes held that same despair; he knew the grave mistake he’d made. “We didn’t know where you were, if you’d even make it here in time. We did what we could with the circumstances we thought we had.”

“I don’t care,” I seethed, “just tell me where they are.”

“The summit,” he said, his words like a rattled breath, “she’s taking her to the summit of the mountain to be undisturbed. There’s a tunnel passage that leads to it somewhere but I don’t know where it is.”

“I can winnow us there.” I was already grabbing his wrist, magic surging and ready to fold us—

“The mountain is warded against winnowing, even within its walls,” Tamlin loosened in my grip and my hands fell away. I paused for a few moments. 

My wings unfurled with a snap as if in answer to the question. “Then I guess we’ll need a different route.”

That’s all he needed to hear as we bounded back to the throne room. I didn’t dare try to navigate the tunnels alone. More Hybern sentries had entered the throne room, and blows were being delivered left and right, the red marble floor now glistening with blood as fae fell on all sides. In the distance, I could see Azriel, Mor, mum and dad shredding any opponent who dared engaged them, and began making my way past to reach the throne room doors. I could only wonder what my mother and father were feeling in these moments, being back in the place that likely haunted their nightmares for years on end. My mother had died here, my father had been used in the utmost soul-crushing of ways. The thoughts distracted me, and my feet skidded on the icy, bloody floor. I threw out my arms to hold balance—

Tamlin’s grip kept me upright as he pulled me along, ducking when a blast of ice or inky darkness flew above us. I gripped my sword in my hand and sliced whenever we were behind a Hybern soldier, doing anything I could to help our sentries defeat Amarantha’s cronies and keep the damage on our side to a minimum. Tamlin aided with his throes of bright light that knocked a soldier onto his ass, only for twin dancing blades to be plunged into his chest by a Peregryn warrior. He nodded his thanks before twisting, ready to engage another. 

Like the doors were a sound barrier, the cries of battle died as we plunged back up the tunnel. With every beating of my heart, with every step I took, my mind only pulsed with the same thought: _Keorah, Keorah, Keorah._

There was still time. There was still time for us, and I wasn’t going to waste a second of it. 

We reared a corner and light broke out as we reached the three-branched tunnel. Rock and dirt kicked up behind us as we ran like a storm, hurtling through the final hall with all the god-like strength I could muster. I was light itself, I was thunder as I raced down the hundred foot corridor. I didn’t care that my lungs felt like they were bleeding, or that the agony in my muscles made me wince with every step. I needed to make it count. Every second passing was a second wasted. 

Only, the light filtering in through the end of the tunnel flickered as a winged creature settled upon the doorstep. It stood there, feral and cunning, before it slowly morphed, and High Fae shadow took its place. 

I reared, my feet skittering against the loose dirt as that figure held an all-too familiar strung bow, and my breath hitched in my throat as I saw the arrow was already barreling towards me. 

It seemed like the arrow was moving in slow motion, and my limbs couldn’t agree as I tried to get out of its path, my magic unrelenting as I tried to throw up a half-assed shield that wouldn’t hold. The arrow aimed straight towards my chest, a death blow that would shine pathetically upon me, and leave my mate to death at the hands of the woman above. 

There weren’t enough seconds in the world for me. I accepted my fate then and there, ready for the impact that would resonate in my chest, and feel the life slowly leech out of me as I died pitifully, without honour. 

But then, there was shadow. Shadow, and a thud, then nothing. 

Before me, Tamlin lay on the ground, unmoving. 

The arrow had shot straight through his heart, right where my own should have been. 

I threw up another shield, this one more solid, but threatening to crumble as my strength grew dimmer and dimmer with the fading adrenaline. Arrow after arrow flicked off of it with Carrick’s brutal efforts.

I choked on a sob as Tamlin’s eyes flicked up to mine, filled with tears. With a guttural gasp, he breathed, “Save her.” Another wet cough, and his face contorted with pain. “Make her happy.”

That’s all the High Lord of Spring had time to say before the Mother claimed him, and he was gone.

I turned to Carrick, a wrath and fire burning within me like no other. Keorah had just gotten her father back. A real family, unlike the toxic one she had all her childhood, filled with love and pride, all the things I’d felt when I searched through Tamlin’s mind. But that was gone, ripped away from the person who’d added unto that toxicity. 

_Not for long_ , I told myself as I turned to Carrick, revenge steeling my nerves and flesh and bones. _He will not be breathing for long._

*

Cassian

Blood stained Cassian’s clothes. He did not care as his sword swung once more, and the fae before him fell to the floor, the sound of its kneecaps crushing against the marble floor ringing in his ears. Its head rolled a few paces away and Cassian continued on, making his way closer to the front of the room. The Hybern soldiers seemed to be pouring in from everywhere. Every time Cassian scanned the room, they seemed to have multiplied, and with a guttural cry he continued his ministrations, slashing, leaping, ducking and twisting as the trail of carnage behind him grew. 

He did not relish in the bloodshed. Though there was a primal part of him that seemed to unleash whenever he was in battle, the killing, the blood did not appease him. The violence guttered him, in fact, and his nose wrinkled at the reek of blood and decaying flesh festering within the throne room, blending with the already dank musk of being so far underground. 

Cassian did not know how his brother had spent so long trapped beneath the surface, without the sky, without the light. He could never even begin imagine what the male was feeling right now as he entered the palace of carrion that’d kept him prisoner for five decades. Neither could he imagine what Feyre was feeling now as she stepped upon the very ground she’d broken and bled and died upon to save their people. The thoughts nearly destroyed him, but he did not let them distract him as he plunged his blade into a Hybern soldier’s skull. 

The winged male let out a cry as he approached another oncoming soldier. This one was skilled, he knew it by the way his opponent carried his sword gently, loosely, and let the blade do as it willed. The blade struck down and Cassian met it with an upward swing. Faster than death herself, it came again, this time for his side, and he spun to avoid it, kicking his leg out at the same time in a half-assed effort to swipe the soldier’s legs out from underneath him. His opponent predicted the move and jumped, avoiding his leg altogether, and bringing his sword down once more. 

The edge of the blade sliced down Cassian’s left upper arm, and the male winced before gripping his sword harder, the promise of death glinting in his eyes. 

Faster still, Cassian swung only for the male to side step and throw a jab at his shoulder. Cassian heaved his body to the side and managed to miss the tip of the blade. His body was tired, and he knew he was making mistakes. But he dug into the fury that festered within his soul, he dug into the purpose that kept him here. 

His family, who’d given up everything for each other’s happiness. Keorah, who sacrificed herself willingly to keep them all safe. Nesta, his beautiful mate who’d seen his darkness, who’d seen Cassian for _all_ he was, and didn’t walk away. 

Their child, who needed a father. Who needed a family. 

And with a roar that shook the cosmos, Cassian leaped into the air, grabbing his blade with both hands, and plunged it down, down into the soldiers collarbone where the chink in their armour was, and glinted with delight as the flesh engulfed the blade and the soldier’s eyes went blank. 

Cassian panted, his muscles rearing as he pulled the blade out, blood skittering everywhere. He gripped the pommel of his Illyrian sword once more, ready to take down yet another, only something caught the corner of his eye, and he trudged towards a rocky doorway at the far right of the room. 

Blonde hair caught his eyes. Blonde hair, stained with blood, being pulled by a female’s claw-like fingers. 

Her bruised face was lined with tears, and her body seemed so weak it was a surprise she could hold herself up at all against the ground as she crawled beside Amarantha, being yanked as she went. 

Cassian’s eyes filled with tears as he saw Keorah, scrambling to keep up at Amarantha’s feet as the vile female lead her down the hall away from the carnage. Keorah’s gaze searched the throne room and shuddered when she settled upon Milo, who was pulled aside by Tamlin farther back to escape a beam of black magic heading his way. As if it were too painful to look at her mate, she tore her glance away from him and continued searching the room. 

Cassian locked eyes with the female he’d promised Rhys he’d protect with his life, no matter the outcome. Her eyes widened with relief, dread and panic as the rest of the world seemed to pause around him. 

Keorah’s mouth only formed one word, and her hand measly pointed upwards. _Summit_. 

It was all she had time to say before Amarantha tugged her along once more, and they disappeared beyond the doorway, away from Cassian. 

The male did not need to be told twice. He dashed to where the two had been within the rocky alcove, and his heart sank when he realized it branched off into five different directions. The rocky ground showed no trace of footprints or drag marks, most likely a product of Amarantha’s careful concealment to ensure she wouldn’t be followed. 

Instead, Cassian raced back toward the throne room and out to the exit. If he couldn’t reach it through the inner tunnels of the mountain, then by the Gods he prayed the winds were ready for his wrath as he exited the front entrance and pushed hard off the ground, wings spread and flapping like they never had before. 

*

Keorah

The rocky ground scraped at my body as I was half dragged, half crawling up the spiralling tunnel that lead to the summit of the mountain, every muscle, bone and inch of skin grinding in agony with each tug of my wrist. She’d let go of my hair long ago when it began to rip from my scalp at the force of her pulls. Blood collected and pooled on my head, a pain long forgotten replaced by the feel of the ground scraping and burning against my body like sandpaper. My knees were cracked and bleeding from the friction, and the heels of my palms barked in torment with every push I made off the ground to try and keep up with Amarantha’s brisk pace. The bruises along my temple and cheek throbbed with the impact of her foot, but were slowly healing as we climbed up. Every once in a while she’d turn and hiss vile words at me, warning me to keep up with her or else. All I saw was her grip on the dagger tightening, and the tremors it sent down my body. 

Thoughts of sweet relief plagued my mind, surrounding on the fact that I’d seen my mate one last time before death. Though it was only for a heartbeat, the sight of his delicate dark curls, deep, rich skin and piercing violet eyes filled me with enough light and strength for this last push, this last round of torture before it would be over. He was worth it. Saving him, giving them all even an ounce of possibility of surviving this, was worth it.

Though, I’d been selfish. For one sickly sweet moment, I’d allowed myself to be selfish and told Cassian where to find us. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Because of course the male would come to my aid, of course he would face down Amarantha despite the fact I knew she could have him dead in seconds with only one blast of her magic. Cassian was the greatest Illyrian warrior ever born, but Amarantha had been honed with eight hundred years worth of fury and revenge ready to paint this land red with blood. 

It seemed like hours passed as we clambered to the top of the mountain, though it couldn’t have been more than minutes once Amarantha gave up and pushed off the ground, floating us on a phantom wind as we spiralled up and up and up…

The tension of being underground eased off my lungs and was replaced with suffocation as we rose to such high altitudes. My head spun at the weakness flooding my veins. The fight, the life within me was draining by the second. I had to force my eyes open every time I began to drift off at the lulling, spinning movements of flight, and remember why I was here. My purpose. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Amarantha came to a stop before a singular iron door. Upon it was an engraving of the Mother, like the many paintings I’d seen before, and Her hands held over the Cauldron as She created life, the earth, the fae and the humans that roamed upon it. I prayed that she watched over me now and hoped she accepted me with open arms despite the crimes I’d committed that stained my soul. 

Amarantha’s magic wrenched the door free and dragged me out into the morning sunlight. I blinked against the sun’s rays and found myself knee-deep in snow atop the mighty mountain. All around me, Prythian seemed to stretch on for miles, the never ending safe-haven I called my home. 

The land I was born to enslave. The land I was born to protect. 

The summit was a flat, rocky snow-covered surface only about twenty feet wide and long, and the door we exited by laid beneath the top of the mountain’s snow-covered pointed peak. At this altitude, the air was so thin I had to take long, deep breaths, and the clouds so thick I could barely see what was probably a stomach-rolling drop leading to the earth below. 

“Stay quiet,” Amarantha hissed with a slap of her hand against my cheek. “No one will disturb us here with the wards protecting the summit.” 

I merely kneeled before her, complacent, stomach turning as she began to whisper the words of the spell once more. 

Minutes went by. I couldn’t feel my limbs anymore, and the snow around me grew red with blood. Every part of me ached beneath the layer of chill and hoarfrost covering my skin. My fingertips and feet were blue, and I’d long since stopped shivering. It didn’t matter, I told myself. I just needed to make it past these last few minutes of torture. It was almost over. It was almost over—

Two fingers tilted my chin up, and I looked into Amarantha’s dark eyes, glinting with delight as her mouth twitched into a smirk. The Dagger’s pommel now glowed with the promise of death. “It’s time,” she whispered, full of pride, full of wicked amusement. 

I whispered their names one last time.

_Milo, Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren, Isra, Papa, Mama, Vesna._

Mama. Vesna. I’d be with them now, at peace with the Mother, watching over my family on the other side. 

“Yes, it is time.” A voice boomed out from behind me. 

The breath rushed out of me. Even the wind barreling upon the mountain let up at the sound of that voice.

I’d never whipped around so quickly in my life. For a second, I thought I broke my neck. 

Then for another moment, I thought I was hallucinating. It was impossible he’d reached us that quickly. It was impossible he’d pierced through the wards. 

But my eyes weren’t lying. My ears weren’t lying. Not as Cassian drawled with a smirk, “I don’t think we’ve met yet, Amarantha. But allow me to introduce myself: I am the winged bastard who will make you wish you’d died the first time once I’m done with you.”

And with that, he launched himself at Amarantha with a roar so immense it shook the rock beneath us.

*

Milo

“You’re a dead male, Carrick,” I said, gripping my sword. This death would be satisfying. I’d been meaning to plunge a dagger through this prick’s eyes since the moment I met him, but if he agreed to surrender, I’d take any bought time I could to get to my mate. “I’ll give you a chance to surrender. I’d run and try to save what’s left of your court if I were you.”

He snickered. “While that would be a valiant effort on my part, there are other matters at hand bigger than just my Queen’s court. Matters I cannot let you fools tamper with.” The male unsheathed his sword, a promise of bloodshed glinting in his eyes. “So I’ll take my chances, Milo. Let’s spar.”

With that, the male swung, and we were locked together in the sweet dance of death. 

Carrick was deadly with a sword, that I knew with each thrust and parry he sent my way. I met him blow by blow, blocking, defending as he went aggressively on the offence, as he’d done when we’d battled at the Spring Court manor. I feigned right and aimed low, a move that’d cut soldiers clean in half before, Carrick only side stepped and avoided my blade altogether, then twisted and landed a blow to my hip. 

My side sang in pain at the knick, and blood began to bloom, mingling with the other blood that already stained my leathers. Black clouds tinged my vision with a rage so deep it made my soul bellow with the kiss of gore. 

I ditched the sword. I unfurled my hands, fingers clenched at my sides, and summoned the darkness of death from deep within me. 

“You want to dance?” Carrick laughed. “Alright, little boy. Show me what you’ve—”

He didn’t have time to answer before I sent a shadow of death for the centre of his chest. He blocked it with a shield of adamant, solid air and sent a beam of golden ichor my way. My hands shot out and put up a wall of water that absorbed the shock before it fell away in puddles out our feet. 

But the male didn’t waste a breath as the skin he wore began to morph and change from smooth ivory to navy scales that coated him from head to toe. His eyes became yellow slits, his nostrils like a snake’s, and his fangs gleaming white against the darkness of the tunnel. Ratty black wings spread behind him and flared as another beam of light shot from his chest. I sent it away with a phantom wind, but did not see the other he fired immediately afterwards. It hit my arm and I hissed at the barking pain, my hand instinctively clapping over the burn-like wound. 

Seeing the Attor before me, I decided it was time to let my own monster out. 

Like peeling off a second skin, I let those primal instincts take over. I let the animalistic beast within me unleash itself and found myself looking through a different set of eyes where the world was much sharper, much clearer. Carrick screeched, an ugly, ear scratching sound, and I roared as my talons extended and I launched myself at him. 

We tangled against each other, a mess of talons and wings and fangs as I gripped the male’s arms and we spun across the floor. I slashed and he bellowed in pain as my talons met their mark, shearing the skin on his face into bloody ribbons. Nonetheless, he kept punching blindly, his blows landing their mark on my chest and abdomen. The breath rattled out of me, but I looked at Carrick, at the beast before me, and remembered what each and every blow was for. 

There was a stark difference between him and I. Purpose. 

My mate was waiting, in pain, at the top of this mountain, ready to be slaughtered like cattle. My family was in that throne room, fighting and bleeding and dying for all I knew all so this land could stand a chance against the evil that threatened to consume it; all for me and some shot in the dark that Keorah and I could have a future together. While the male before me had…what? Greed? Power? Revenge?

The thought of my family, of my mate, turned my talons into instruments of death. With a mighty shove, I pushed Carrick off of my chest and into the wall behind him. 

I took a deep breath now that my chest had been liberated from the weight, and it fuelled my blood, set it on fire. I stood, black fur-covered legs shaking as I made my way towards Carrick, who lay whimpering and scrambling upon the rocky ground. He saw me approaching him and sneered, but I only growled delightfully before I pounced upon him. He raised his hands, one last attempt at defending himself, but it was no use. 

I wrapped my teeth around his neck and wrenched his head clean off of his shoulders. 

The sound was bone-gyrating, and blood and sinew coated my chest, teeth and tongue, but I relished in it as I tossed his head to the side, black blood leaking from what was left of his body. As my heart began to calm, I felt my skin and body morph back into my High Fae form, the feeling of clothes odd against my body after being coated in fur. The faint taste of blood remained and my nose wrinkled.

I only allowed myself the liberty of a few, short, shallow breaths to refuel my body before pushing off the ground once more and darting outside. And once my wings felt the wind tug at my back, I was off. 

* 

Keorah

I could only watch, trembling in fear, as Cassian and Amarantha tangled. Cassian was landing blows to her side, her face, her stomach—but Amarantha only needed to inch one hand between them and Cassian went sailing back with a blast of her power. He careened off the side of the mountain, and I screamed, thinking full well he was dead and gone. But Cassian soared back, the dark shadows haunting his features as he landed, snow flying up around him. He reached for his dagger once more and slashed across Amarantha’s face. 

The Dagger of Destruction and Salvation sat sheathed at her hip, glowing ethereally. My stare settled upon it as The Red Queen paused, blood blossoming within the cut on her cheek. Even Cassian waited as she brought a finger up to it and wiped at the crimson, though more quickly trickled down to replace it. Gore glittered in her eyes as she locked gazes with Cassian. 

The male only shot her a lazy, arrogant smirk that would’ve made me throw the first punch. Amarantha only lifted her chin, a queen holding court. 

“Funny that you, a lesser bastard half my age, think you can best me.” The words sliced through the whistling wind and flurry of snow surrounding us. I ignored the chill, for it had already settled itself deep within my marrow and made its home within my core. 

Cassian only shrugged his shoulders. “Funny that you think you can kill my family, butcher dozens of innocents, enslave the entirety of Prythian, and walk away with a heartbeat.” 

Amarantha laughed, a sound that sent tremors down my spine. “I will, you insolent bat. And once I’m done with you, I hear that Rhysie is waiting for me in the throne room. I simply cannot wait to have him between my legs once more.”

Shadows grew around Cassian as darkness guttered in his eyes. Amarantha saw she hit a nerve and cocked her head. “What? Rhys never told you of the time we spent together.” She chuckled. “Oh, what a good plaything he was. On his knees before me every night. One of the best rides of—”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence as Cassian raised his palm and sent a spear of Illyrian death magic straight to Amarantha’s chest. She deflected it easily with a sidestep yet nearly tripped. The Dagger went flying out of its holster and landed in a tuft of snow, but she did not pause and sent her own shooting back at him. It struck Cassian in the shoulder and the male winced, but raised his palm once again.

He was shaking despite the stone cold determination in his eyes. He was probably exhausted from the battle below and the strain on his power it must’ve taken to blast through the wards and shields. 

I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t watch Cassian lay his life down for me. 

“Stop,” I begged Amarantha, though my throat was scratchy and weak, “let him go. No more fighting. No more death. I’ll go through with the spell, just _let him go_.”

Amarantha’s attention settled fully on me. I felt Cassian’s stare burning into my back as I tried to crawl my way in between them, a pathetic shield to keep the male away from her throes. 

“You’ll go through with the spell.” She said. “But this is only the beginning of death.”

Before she was even through with her sentence, grey sickly light flew from her hands—

And careened into Cassian, right through his chest. 

As though the light was multiple blades, it sliced through him, mangling the scale-like armour covering his chest and the skin that laid beneath it. The male fell to his knees in a tuft of snow. 

I was screaming. Screaming as I crawled towards Cassian, my entire body frozen not only with the cold, but deathly, winding fear—

My vision dimmed and my heart stopped as Cassian slumped over in the snow, eyes unmoving, blank. Devoid of the swagger he owned with every step, the humour that lit his face, the trust and caring and fierce loyalty that filled his expression whenever he was surrounded by the people he loved. 

A part of my soul died as I my mouth opened in a silent sob. This death, like so many—too many others, was on me. 

Behind me, Amarantha laughed, and the fire within me alit once more. It was time. Like Papa had drilled into me the hours we spent pouring over plans and hypotheses, it was time. 

I dragged my gaze away from the winged warrior and faced the queen once more, panting wildly, prepared to be unleashed. 

I said, “There is still a chance for you.”

Her face, which had been set in a bone-grinding smirk, turned into one of concealed amusement. She said nothing, and the silence was filled with her cloak whipping in the wind of the roaring mountain. I took it as a sign to continue. 

“You were only a child when Votto did what he did to you,” I said, the words scratchy and bleeding in my throat, “when your brother tortured you, when you had to give up everything if only for a chance at a worthwhile life.” I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat. “You were hurt, and you let that darkness fester. I know that darkness. It still lives within me.

“I know that darkness, and there were so many times I wanted to tear the world apart for the odds that’d been stacked against me. I’ve wanted to wreak havoc on the entirety of Prythian at the injustice of it all, but I took the decision not to.” Tears ran down my cheeks. “I used my hurt for good. For light. For peace. 

“There is still a chance for you,” I repeated, “a chance for you to right this. You can flee. Run to the ends of this earth, far, far away from here, and swear a blood oath to never return. You can cut ties with evil, try to repent for the past. And use that hurt for good.”

Amarantha blinked. For a second, I thought I had her. For a second, she seemed convinced. 

Then, as I thought, she let out a cackled laugh and sneered, “So full of innocence. So full of hope. Like a bright-eyed lamb, naive to the ways of the real world.” Her lip curled as she reached out and wrapped her arms around my forearms, then shoved me against the snow, pinning me in place with her knees. Amarantha said, “It’s time for slaughter, little lamb.” 

She reached to unsheathe the Dagger. Only it wasn’t in her belt, sheathed as it should be. 

She hadn’t noticed the entire time I was speaking that I slowly inched over to where it had fallen in the snow. Papa told me killing her with the Dagger would only dim its powers, not nullify them completely. I couldn’t waste my breath with my powers to kill for her she was much, much stronger than me in my measly state. I couldn’t throw myself off the ledge of the mountain, either, because she had aerial forces surrounding that would scoop me up and deliver me right back to her. 

This was the only way. To nullify the powers; to put an end to her reign.

I seethed, “You will _never_ find peace. I hope when your time comes, when my family is done with you, you’ll rot in the depths of hell.”

Her eyes widened as my fingers wrapped around the pommel of the Dagger. 

And plunged it straight into my heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.... (not sorry)  
> Next chapter will be up within the next few days ;)  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kath


	9. Life and Death, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have run out of witty ways to dance around what you're about to read. Hope you enjoy it though ;)

Milo

I wasn’t even three feet off the ground before I felt the emptiness in my soul. 

Like fae lights being extinguished, like a door being softly shut, like eyes falling closed, the bond between us went limp, then dark altogether.

_I couldn’t breathe._

I didn’t realize I’d fallen to the ground until all I saw was bright blue sky. The clouds had cleared and the sun had risen. It was a beautiful, ethereal spring day. 

It was an ugly, vile day. 

It didn’t matter though as I pushed myself up from the ash-like dirt. 

I wouldn’t accept it. I couldn’t. 

We hadn’t gone through all we’d suffered only for this to be our end. There was this fibre within me that still clung to hope and tugged on it _hard_ ; that still whispered, _Stay, stay, stay._

And there was that stronger, growling beast ready to rip away my skin and shred Amarantha apart. I let it simmer my blood and sinew to vapoured fury as I pushed hard off the rocky ground and fled to the skies once more. 

*

Cassian

Cassian’s eyes were open, but he was swimming in thick, murky darkness as he took his last few rattling breaths. All he could think of was Nesta, his mate, and the future he’d given up to honour his duty. 

He didn’t regret his decision. He would never regret his decision, because Cassian was a man of honour. Loyalty. He knew he would die protecting the female who’d given herself up willingly for them all. His death would not be in vain; but in turn to give his mate and child a future where they did not have to live under the reign of a cruel queen determined to enslave them all. 

So Cassian went gently into the darkness, a grin on his face, ready for the next adventure awaiting him. 

*

Keorah

There was a bright, stark light. One so blinding I closed my eyes and covered my face with the back of my hand. Everything was scalding, burning hot like I was being incinerated from the inside out—

“Shh, Keke, it’s okay,” a soothing voice whispered. Hands were curled around my shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on my back, telling me to breathe. For a few moments I sat there in the darkness, trying to force air in and out of my lungs until the voice in my ears grew more distinct. 

I opened my eyes. _This couldn't be real—_

“Your father’s eyes,” Mama said, a proud grin on her face as her eyes filled with tears. 

I blinked. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t have been real—

Then I realized that I’d died. I’d stabbed myself in the heart to save Prythian; to keep those powers away from Amarantha. 

I was dead. 

And here, standing before me—

“Mama,” I choked out.

My mother kneeled before me, clad in her white trousers and favourite soft, cream sweater. Her face looked just as vibrant and beautiful as the last time I saw it, before I found her in the bath tub. My fingers curled into her stark white hair, waist length as she always kept it, and my hands shook as I wrapped my arms around her. 

My fingers touched feathers and my eyes shot open as I withdrew. 

Behind her, glinting beautifully in the light, were wings. Peregryn wings. 

“Your wings,” I breathed. “They—”

“They came back,” she said, “once I crossed over.” She fluttered them and the sound was like a dove taking flight. It made my heart sigh, and I fell into her once more.

She folded me into her embrace. I sobbed, hard, as the scent of her hit me. Peonies and fresh rain hitting the grass fields. 

When she pulled back, the tears sitting upon her lids spilled onto her cheeks, and I stared into her crystalline eyes as she breathed, “I am so proud of you, my rose petal. You’ve been so brave.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been trying to honour you. To do right.”

She nodded and folded me into her once again. I never wanted to let go. The full brunt of missing her hit me all at once as she ran her fingers down the back of my head, bringing back too many memories of us huddled together in the dark after a night of wrath from Papa. 

“My girls,” another voice sounded from behind me, as though the thought of him concretized his presence.

I whirled, panic striking my heart, as Papa stood behind me, a sad smile on his face. 

My breath caught in my throat. How? What—

“Carrick,” he said softly. “The arrow was aimed at Milo.”

The words ricocheted through me. He’d died for my mate. He’d sacrificed himself for my mate.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my hand clutching my chest. At least my mate had survived. At least he had a chance at life.

Mama’s face was one of adoration as she looked at Papa. At my confusion, she murmured, “I knew what happened to Papa from the Other Side. I’ve been watching over you all from there.”

A shadow flickered across Papa’s face, but it fled just as quickly as it came. He only padded closer to us and kneeled next to Mama. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and my heart swelled. I hadn’t seen my father kiss my mother in years. 

A family. A family, filled with love, no matter how late it was. 

“What happens now?” I asked. 

Mama looked to Papa, her smile dimming as sorrow clouded the stars in her eyes. 

“We have to go to the Other Side.” Papa said lowly.

I began to stand, and they followed. “Let’s go, then. I’m ready.”

They shared that look once more, and more tears fell down Mama’s face. 

I could only blink as something clearly passed between them, something I didn’t understand. “What is it?”

Mama loosed out a deep breath. “You’re not coming with us.”

Panic made my stomach drop. “What do you mean I’m not coming with you? Is there—” Dread coiled in my stomach. “Am I going somewhere else? For—” I couldn’t even say the words, for no words could describe the atrocities I’d committed. “For what I did?”

“No,” Papa said sternly and laid a hand on my shoulder. “No, Keke, not at all.” He sighed, and his eyes closed for a second, as though he couldn’t bear to say it. But he lifted his hand and gently brushed his fingers down my cheek. “You aren’t coming with us because you’re not dead, Keorah.”

A dull ache spread through my chest at the words. I’d been so ready, so ready to be ended—

“You must never think like that,” Mama breathed, eyes glowing with a scornful anger she used to aim at me as a child when she scolded me. 

I couldn’t meet her gaze. I couldn’t meet Papa’s, either. 

Fingertips tilted my chin up, and the fire in Mama’s crystal eyes was enough to set Prythian ablaze. “I was weak. I was weak and tired and hopeless, and I was selfish.” Every word hammered at my heart as I thought of her body laying lifeless in the murky water of the bathtub. “I gave up. For just a second, I gave up and I stopped fighting.”

Mama was crying, fat tears sliding down her face, she only murmured fiercely, “I left you, Keke, and it was the _worst_ mistake of my life. I live with this regret every day on the Other Side. For what I did to you. For what I did to the people who needed me.

“You must never stop fighting. Even if you are weak, even if you are tired, even if you feel like there is so much darkness within you and no light left to be seen, you must _fight_.”

More tears fell down my cheeks, and Mama and Papa drew me between them in an embrace. 

“You are going to do such great things, Keorah,” Papa whispered into my ear. His voice soothed over the waves of love and gratitude I felt in my heart for my parents, for the people who’d raised me, no matter what had happened between then and now. All that mattered was right now, right here in this moment, where the evil had been cleansed, and the good burned bright.

“Place your hand over your heart.” Papa said. His breath was warm against my scalp. My fingers found their way to my chest and felt the shallow, quick thudding beneath my skin. “Do you feel it? That is purpose. That alone, the gift of life, is purpose. Because you were born for a reason. You were born to do great things, to bring change to this land, to save this land, and to save our people. You were given life,” they both pulled away so I could look at the love and adoration lining their smiles, “and that in itself is a gift. All that’s left is for you to use it.”

As his mouth formed those words, both of their bodies began to fade in and out as the light grew brighter. 

“No,” I pleaded, “not yet. Don’t go.”

But there was a tug from within me. A fibre in my heart, in my very soul, and I could hear it whispering. _Stay. Stay. Stay._

Not here, on the Other Side, but home. Where I belonged. 

I wanted to go home. Despite the darkness in me, despite the stains on my soul, there was an entire world out there, and entire land waiting for me. 

My family, whom I’d give everything for, was waiting for me. 

My mate was waiting for me. 

Those thoughts alone had me taking a step back. 

“We love you, Keorah.” Mama smiled as the tears kept flowing down her cheeks; down both my parents’ cheeks. 

“Our little rose petal,” Papa breathed. “Go. Use your gift wisely. Use it bravely.”

“We will be here when the time comes.”

“I love you,” I said, and there weren’t enough words in our language to describe that well within my chest, filled with complete and utter love, warmth and tenderness. It soared within me as other figures appeared behind them, faces I would never forget for the rest of my immortal existence. 

Vesna, who clutched her chest, a bright smile on her face. Whole. Beaming brightly. 

The human family I’d killed. The older man who’d said he pitied me in his final moments, the ones who’d prayed and bled at my feet. 

The man only held a hand to his heart. As though he knew the cost, and accepted it. 

Thelonia, with full, thick locks of dark hair and a smile that stretched for miles. There was determination in her face, life in her eyes, like I’d never seen before.

I stared at them all, weeping as the light grew and grew, so brightly I closed my eyes—

Then I was falling. 

I was falling between worlds, between skies, and there was no end or beginning as the wind tore at my measly clothes, as cold and hot air pushed me, spun me around and around, as life ended and began, as the breath from my lungs was stolen—

I took a deep, full breath of cold air. It stung my lungs; it breathed life into my limbs, and my eyes fluttered open. 

To find Amarantha above me snarling with rage as her hands wrapped around my throat and squeezed.

*

Milo

“Milo!” a voice screamed from behind me. 

I was whizzing through the sky, wind at my back, propelling me up the side of the mountain so quickly tears blurred my vision. For a second, though, my gaze darted over my shoulder to see the Inner Circle behind me, panic-stricken looks on their faces. But…

Cassian wasn’t there. Had he been injured? Or worse…

No. There was no way. 

But the look on their faces had my stomach in knots as they caught up. Blood stained their clothes, and dad seemed lifeless as he took me in. Nobody questioned the blood coating my hands, armour and neck. Mor looked gaunt in Azriel’s arms, and the Shadowsinger seemed to be on his last winds as his wings begrudgingly beat behind him. Mum, though, was still alert, and full of concern as she glanced warily at me. 

“They’re at the summit,” I said, and offered nothing about how I knew that. “We have to go.”

Not another word needed to be said as we set off once more. 

The clouds grew thicker and the air thinner, and the cold seeped past the blinding pain and into my bones. I could feel the electric tang of magic, as I had before when she’d cleaved the ward surrounding the mountain, and I held my breath as we neared some sort of barrier encasing the mountain’s summit. There, in the middle of it, was a break in the magic that was gleaming with red along the outline of it. 

I swallowed hard. There was no doubt, it was Cassian’s Illyrian death magic. 

I passed through it. The metallic tang coated me for a moment but faded as the clouds thickened and my feet finally hit the ground in a hiss of snow. 

I was the first to arrive. Mum, dad, Azriel Mor touched down only seconds later as I took tentative steps forward through the haze of clouds.

The thought hit me that I was not prepared to see her body. It was like being in the townhouse all over again when mum had carried her near lifeless frame and set her down on the cot. I took tentative steps forward as I whispered those words over and over again. _Stay. Stay. Stay._

But then I felt it. As the sun’s rays danced through the mist surrounding us, I felt it, a surge down the limp, frayed mating bond. 

A blast of heat and light that welded the broken strands. 

I didn’t dare to breathe. To hope. 

The wind whipped at my clothing, but there was another sound. Struggling. Shuffling. 

The clouds cleared, and there was a red-headed female in black, hunched over somebody. 

Amarantha. 

For there, beneath her, legs kicked and fought against the Red Queen, legs I’d drawn and touched and memorized during our time spent at the cabin. 

The roar that surged from my throat was enough to make the Gods tremble as I ran to my mate, ready to bring blood raining once more. 

*

Keorah

Red spots danced along my vision as her fingers squeezed the life out of me. The life I’d just been re-given, the life I was told to use wisely. 

It would not be wasted for another second on this coward’s selfish agenda. I would not bow, I would not yield. Not to her, not to anybody any longer. 

This life was mine. This voice was mine, these hands were mine, and it was time to use them for good. It was time to do what I was born to do. 

It was a shot in the dark. But it was all I had.

A roar of agony sounded across the landing, but I paid it no heed as I choked out, “ _Stop_.”

There was a new, electric feeling in my veins. One I’d never felt before that rooted itself within the very depths of my powers, of my being, like a new thread being woven into an old tapestry. It purred with delight at its first use. 

Amarantha, whose face was contorted with fury and outrage, now only gawked in shock as her hands stopped squeezing. 

The roar was choked off, and silence reigned as the Red Queen straddled me, unmoving. 

The spell had worked. 

_A child of all courts_ _rules the dagger of destruction and salvation. Blessed in the stream of eternal life, the slayer bends will of all Prythian_.

I was the child of all courts. But I’d plunged the knife into my own chest. 

Which also made me the slayer.

And I bent the will of Prythian’s inhabitants when I held Amarnatha’s gaze with an unmatched wrath of my own and spat chokingly, “Now get off of me, you _bitch_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up tomorrow night. Your comments on the last chapter truly made my heart swell <3 Thank you so much for your support. It truly means everything to me, and I'm elated that you're enjoying this story.   
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	10. Life and Death, Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah's bad-assness continues to grow exponentially.

Keorah

Amarantha’s weight lifted off my chest. I could finally breathe again, and the sky was blushing as I gazed up into the clouds. 

Alive. I was _alive_. 

A snarl sounded from behind me, and I turned to Amarantha only to see she was looking over my shoulder. “Quiet,” I snapped to her before spinning and finding—

My family, my other family, all stood there, awe and shock and amazement lining their faces. Only tears were streaming down Mor’s cheeks as Azriel hunched over a slumped figure in the corner. 

My stomach dropped. _Cassian_. Cassian—

"Cassian!" I yelled gutturally as a sob got caught in my throat.

Voices were saying my name, calling over each other as I pushed up front the ground and trudged through the snow towards the male. Only minutes, seconds had gone by since Amarantha had thrown that blast of magic to him. He was not dead. 

I refused that answer. I refused it as Azriel cleared a path for me to kneel before the winged warrior, whose face was pale as the snow surrounding him. Blood leaked from his chest, from his mouth and nose, but I didn’t care as I pressed my hands to his cheeks and stared into his glassy, glazed eyes. 

“ _Live_ ,” I said, choking on a sob. My throat was rough and strained from Amarantha’s hands, but I didn’t care as I whimpered, “Live.”

Cassian laid unmoving on the landing. The wind brushed up the snow and sent it scattering across his face, but my fingers gently patted it away. I held his face in my hands, hoping my measly warmth could somehow bring the blood back to his face. Though I was exhausted to my marrow and drained to the dregs from cleaving the wards around the mountain, I willed my healing powers into his skin, thinking maybe it could help with the silent command I’d given him. The dizziness sent my mind whirling but I kept myself grounded on the male before me. 

“Live,” I said once more. He didn’t respond. Nobody else said a word as they watched from a healthy distance away, tears lining their cheeks as well. 

That new fibre, it hummed in my chest. As though it wanted to resist. As though it knew this wasn’t nature’s course; that I was bending some fundamental laws of life. 

But I did not care. I gave that thread all I had, I infused it with my magic, and let the order flow to the General laying before me.

Long minutes passed. Cassian still remained prostrate, yet I did not budge. I held the warrior’s gaze and prayed; I let my magic ensconce him. I did not falter, only infused my gaze with as much unyielding command as I possibly could. 

“Live.”

The word was but a breath. One that echoed through my soul. 

Beneath my palms, muscles stirred. 

I could only close my eyes and thank the Mother, for as I opened them, Cassian’s eyes roamed, taking in my face and the scene around us. His breath rattled in and out of his lungs, and I could only feel a weak pulse as pressed my fingers to his neck, but he was breathing. His heart was pumping. 

He was alive. 

“Are we dead?” He wondered weakly to me, a laugh on his lips. I blinked at the wetness in my eyes and shook my head. 

He smiled, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Good. I think Nesta would’ve killed me if I died.”

I could only chuckle as well as Cassian wrapped his arms around my figure and pulled me into his chest. Though he was all jokes and smiles and laughter, I felt his sobs shudder against me as he pressed his face into my shoulder. I could barely hold mine back as I realized the immensity of what’d just happened. 

We both should’ve been dead. We both should’ve been on the Other Side, with Mama and Papa and the rest of them, but here we were, alive against all odds. 

A scream and thud had us alert though, and I untangled myself from Cassian’s embrace to see my mate pinning Amarantha against the ground, face contorted with an unparalleled rage. Azriel and Mor hurried over to Cassian’s side and began speaking in hushed, worn voices. Rhys, ready to explode into darkness and fury, held a blanch Feyre, and I could only guess from the dagger in Amarantha’s hand that she’d tried to attack her. 

For a moment, though, I could only stare at my mate. The warmth and love I’d felt when staring at the people from the Other Side swelled once more, and the full brunt of our time apart hit me like a downpour. 

I’d missed him so much the exhaustion, cold and pain paled in comparison to that yearning within me. All I wanted was for us to be in that third world escape we’d created for ourselves and to never return. I wanted to memorize him; to have his face and chest and skin inked into the back of my eyelids so I’d never be without him again. 

But most of all, I missed my friend. I missed laughing with him. Smiling. 

_I missed my friend._

As always, though, there were greater matters at hand. 

“Be still,” I ordered Amarantha. The magic worked in a way that I needn’t say names. It sensed the direction and purpose of my commands and executed them accordingly, saving me therelentless repetition. The female froze beneath my mate, who pushed away from her roughly, his back facing me. His hair swayed in the wind, and I resisted the urge to reach out and curl my fingers into it. 

“Milo.” The name rolled off my tongue like a prayer. A sigh, a plea to the heavens, a call to the Mother Herself. 

My mate froze. He stilled completely. 

Slowly, he turned, and just the sight of him, whole, uninjured save for a few nicks in his armour—

“Keorah,” he breathed, and it was all I needed to hear. Only, there would be time for this soon. I had to do one last thing before I could let myself just _be_. 

So I only sent a caress down the bond, a promise of what was to come, before I brushed past him to face the remainder of Prythian’s Slayer, whose face was tinged red with frustration at being unable to control her own thoughts. 

I did not relish in violence. I did not relish in pain and suffering, but seeing her on the floor, ready to obey my every command, was a tantalizing offer that took much, much will power to resist. 

“Kneel.” The sound of my voice boomed across the landing. Where before one could notice the cracks within it, the notes of timidness and uncertainty, it now held a calm, commanding tenor to it—one I would need from now on. 

Amarantha oozed with disgust as her limbs pushed her into a sitting position, then jutted one knee forward towards me, one still on the ground. They were slow, jagged movements, like she resisted every inch of motion. From beneath her eyelashes, she glanced up at me with a glare. 

“Remove every ward and spell and inch of your powers from these lands and its people. Now.”

To ensure there was no trace of her left. To ensure she was cleansed from Prythian, that it would never feel the essence of her for the remainder of its existence. 

Tentatively, she closed her eyes. It was like an explosion, but in reverse, as blasts of red and black magic came darting from all over. The throes of it shot through the sky so fast they were gone, seeping back into their owners skin in a heartbeat, and the metallic tang of it coated the air. The layers she’d had wrapped around the mountain were gone. The layers around herself, gone. 

It was only when a weight settled at my back that the breath rushed out of me. I nearly fell on my rear as my muscles barked in pain, trying to keep myself steady and standing, and my brows furrowed in question at what could’ve possibly been the cause of it. 

Only as the sun shone at my back, it sent a shadow across the snowy landing. A shadow not of just my frail body. 

But wings. Great, large wings, just like Mama’s. 

Confusion sent my mind spinning. 

My eyes darted to Amarantha as I strained to keep upright. “Explain.”

Begrudgingly, she ground out, “A concealment spell. They were tucked in a pocket between the worlds since your birth. I wanted to cut them off, but you would’ve noticed the stumps.”

“Why?”

Her mouth curled in disgust. “To take away any semblance of freedom from you.”

Disgust rooted itself within me, and I spat, “You will do as Rhysand, Feyre or any of their court ask you to do. I don’t care what happens to you, but I only hope that you suffer.” She snarled, but from behind me, Mor snapped at her to be quiet. She listened, as the command instructed her, even if it made her face flush with wrath. 

I turned to face my family, and Amarantha was forgotten. 

Cassian, weak but able to stand, smiled at the wings. As did Azriel and Mor, who both hoisted the injured male between them, and the stars in their eyes burned brightly as they looked to Rhys and Feyre. 

Their gazes shifted from where they’d been on Amarantha to hold mine. Rhysand’s eyes widened with fear as he said, “Keorah—”

But I couldn’t hear the rest as I fell to my knees. The full brunt of the day’s events swept through me like a tidal wave, and I nearly melted right there from the pure exhaustion that suddenly settled itself over me like a blanket. 

Arms curled around my body and cradled me to their chest. A scent swept over me, and I began to weep as Milo clutched me to him, the smell of eucalyptus, pine and citrus calming my frayed nerves. 

My eyes closed at last as I curled deeper into my mate’s embrace, the only place I’d felt safest in my eighteen years of existence. 

*

Had Amarantha killed me? Was this what the Other Side looked like?

It was like being trapped in Amarantha’s mind scape. Real or not real? Dead or alive? I couldn’t tell anymore, not with the near cataclysmic chaos exploding before me. 

The sky seemed to be falling as stars whistled through the night. They seemed only inches above my head, but they glowed with the vibrance of dancing suns across the black infinite laying beyond. 

Wind was hitting me, and I realized I was flying as I saw great wings beating over my carrier’s shoulders. They were wings I recognized; wings I’d touched and kissed and worshipped. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice whispered in my ears. 

Though I was floating in and out of conscious, I couldn’t help the tears springing to my eyes as I looked up and saw my mate smiling softly above me. My hand reached out to cup his cheek and he leaned into the touch. His body seemed to shudder around me, and he clutched me tighter to his chest. The warmth filled me up and my eyes closed once more, my hand falling back into my lap. 

“Happy birthday, Keorah.”

*

Milo

I began to stir as the glaring afternoon sunlight hit my eyes and drew me to consciousness. I’d been fading in and out all day as I laid by her side, unable to eat, leave or breathe without knowing she was here and she was safe and she was alive. 

It’d been two days since I half winnowed, half flew Keorah and I home to Velaris, and she had not awoken since she’d stirred in my arms beneath the skies of Starfall. 

Mum, dad and the rest of the Inner Circle had stayed behind with the other High Lords and High Ladies to help fill in the gaps of what’d happened during those moments Under the Mountain and upon its summit, as well as help lead the Illyrians home with the rest of the camp War-Lords. Though the carnage on both sides was substantial—and any life sacrificed a burden we’d carry for the rest of our lives—the loss wasn’t as great as we'd anticipated. 

Upon our arrival, Amren had merely looked to me, then Keorah who still laid sleeping in my arms, and asked, “Everyone else?”

“Alive,” I’d confirmed, and Amren showed her relief only through the way her shoulders relaxed at the words before rushing out the front door of the townhouse to a city meeting to update the citizens of Velaris on the battle down south. 

Azriel had told me before I left not to go to the manor, for it had been destroyed. At first, I’d been grief-ridden and shocked, but those feelings subsided quickly only to be replaced with sicker ones. Some small, selfish part of me was glad it burnt to the ground. The immensity of it, through partial fault of our own, created space between our family so far that weekends at the townhouse seemed cramped for four people. And right now, after the death and destruction we’d faced, space was the very last thing we needed. 

Looking down at the Queen of Prythian in my arms, I knew I never wanted more than a healthy distance between us ever again. 

It was decided after Keorah had fallen unconscious on the snowy landing that not a word of Keorah’s newly earned powers would be spoken of. 

She'd been through enough persecution and hunting for more than a lifetime's worth. There was no need for her to have yet another target painted on her back, for her to have to live in fear of being hunted for the rest of her life. Anyways, I knew my mate enough to know that she would likely have zero interest in ruling over seven courts. Just one seemed like enough to keep somebody busy for a millennia. 

The High Lord and High Ladies, though, would reunite soon once more. Prythian was in chaos right now, especially in the Spring Court, where the population was in scrambles. Many had been liberated from where they’d been locked in the death camps Under the Mountain, and now faced the journey home where no ruler awaited them. 

I wasn’t sure how to tell Keorah that her father had died. That he’d died to save me. 

It was a sacrifice I’d remember for the rest of my life. Because just being able to lay in bed next to my mate, knowing she was safe and alive and whole… It was a gift. 

One I wouldn’t take for granted, because I never wanted to feel that feeling again. Not knowing whether she was dead or alive, safe or hurting…the agony it sent through me, the utter despair that’d embedded itself into every breath had taken a toll like no other on my body. 

I rolled onto my side to face Keorah. Her back was to me, but I could still see the rise and fall of her chest, still hear her soft breaths blowing across the pillow as though keeping time to a melody of slumber. What never failed to amaze me, though, every time I looked at her, was the pair of jutting wings at her back. 

They were stark white plumes, almost like a bird’s, that grew from smaller down-like feathers at the top of the peaked crest to ones the size of my forearm jutting at their ends. Every time I ran my fingers over them, I nearly sighed at their softness. 

I skimmed the very edge of the wing. They were folded behind her on the bed, occupying the space between us. A few times, my fingers itched to retrieve my sketch book and attempt at recreating them, but I was afraid that once I started drawing I wouldn’t stop, and vile pictures would take place of the serenity I was trying to mimic.

So I continued to stroke my mate’s wings, blocking out the images of Oris’s sneer when he put his hands on my body in a manner I thought I’d left far, far in the past. Because this movement, this simple sweep of bodily contact steadied me in a way I couldn’t explain. 

Only, the muscles on my mate’s back shifted. She hadn’t rustled much in her time spent sleeping, and my body stilled as her breathing became uneven, nearly hoarse.

“That,” a voice choked out, “is very sensitive.” 

My body froze. I couldn’t even speak. 

No, I forgot what words even were as my mate attempted to roll onto her side and failed due to the heaviness at her back. After a few more tries she sighed and merely lifted herself on a phantom wind so she could properly turn over and face me before settling back gently onto the mattress. 

I couldn’t breathe. Because if I made the slightest movement, if I ruptured this perfect bubble of peace between us, it would fall away and the haunting reality I’d lived with the past weeks would be back, and she’d be gone. 

But Keorah, who brought a new definition to beauty with the sun hitting her golden hair and her emerald eyes glimmering in the amber afternoon light, only lifted her fingertips and grazed my cheek. 

As though she didn’t believe this was real, either. Another hand reached out, this one pressing against my chest, right over my heart where that steady beat thudded away. 

“Real,” she breathed, like it was a question. There was confusion in her eyes, and I could only wonder what had happened beneath the rock of that mountain for her to question the reality surrounding her. 

Tentatively, I reached out and cupped her cheek with my palm. Her skin was warm and soft beneath mine, and my heart soared at the contact between us; the mating bond glowing bright at the reunion between our souls. 

“Real,” I confirmed as the pad of my thumb brushed across her cheekbone. Then, with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face, I said, “Hello, angel.”

Her answering smile sent my eyes stinging as she slid across the bed and into my lap. I sat upright, arms wrapped around her waist and buried my face in her neck. Her vanilla rosy scent my nose and I choked on a sob. She only ran her hands down the back of my hair, her fingers curling into it to pull my face away from her and tilt it up to meet her gaze. 

“Milo,” her finger traced from my brow down to my jaw, and shivers climbed up the rungs of my spine, “I love you.” 

The words broke me; the words healed me. 

My mate smiled down at me, tears streaming down her face, and gently leaned down to press her lips to mine. 

When I’d first kissed Keorah, it made me believe that all was righted in the world. No matter the situation we’d been in, no matter my state of mind, no matter the darkness withering my soul, when I was with her, I felt… right. Whole. 

And to this day, as I opened my mouth to hers, the rest of my world fell away and narrowed only to her. Us. This moment. And the love shining bright and whole between us as though there hadn’t been miles and miles of distance and pain keeping us apart. 

I drew away. I needed to see her, to confirm as she had that this was real, that she was here and alive and breathing. When those brilliant, shining eyes met mine, full of adoration and love and concern, I breathed, “I love you. I didn’t say it enough before you were gone,” my voice broke on those words, “and I love you Keorah. I love you, I love you, I love you…” I whispered it over and over as my lips pressed across her, from her shoulder to the hollow of her throat to the spot beneath her jaw. Her hands reached around to cup my cheeks once more. 

“Promise me,” she whispered softly as her eyes guttered with the darkness and despair I’d seen in them when we were atop that landing, “promise me we’ll never do that ever again. From now on, we face it all together.”

My fingers reached up to curl a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and I said, “I promise. Never again.” 

Keorah’s forehead pressed against mine, and I held her as we shared each other’s breaths, as we bound ourselves in ways my heart and soul couldn’t even define. 

“Good,” she said, “now help me to the bathroom before I wet the sheets.”

Our laughter filled the cracks and crevices of silence encompassing the house as I scooped my mate up into my arms, her warmth spreading over me to finally drain the ice that’d accumulated in my soul during her absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... and y'all thought I killed Cassian. As IF I could kill my favourite character of all time !!!  
> The grander plot is wrapping up, but we've still got a few more chapters to go. There are still some stories and secrets left unsaid that need to be revealed!  
> Hope you're all still enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it.  
> Have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	11. Warmth and Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Milo/Keorah fluff because they deserve only good things after everything they've gone through.

Keorah

“You don’t have to hold my hand while I pee.”

Milo laughed and released my hand yet still kept a grip on my shoulder. I didn’t mind, because I needed his touch, I needed him to ground me and realize that this wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some fantasy woven by Thelonia, but reality, and I was out. I’d made it out. 

Milo must’ve seen the darkness in my eyes. “Do you…”

He trailed off uncertainly. Our gazes met, and there was reluctance and confusion on both ends. Navigating the past few months was a grey area neither of us knew how to colour in. 

I flushed and washed my hands so we at least didn’t have to have this conversation on the gods-damned toilet, and Milo helped me back to the bed as I continued to stumble like a trembling fawn with my new wings. Though I knew I could probably send them to a pocket realm if I needed, I wanted to adjust to them. I wanted to carry them proudly, if only for Mama and Papa watching on the Other Side. 

The thought stole the breath from my lungs and I had to close my eyes for a moment. Milo only waited, achingly patient, rubbing smooth circles on my shoulder, before we continued and finally settled back onto the bed (carefully once more, to accommodate the wings). 

For a moment, we just stared at each other. Just being here, in each other’s space, sharing each other’s breaths…it soothed the aching parts within me. 

His eyes roamed all over my face and body, my bare legs, now bear of everything: scars and tattoos. Another reminder of the healed person Amarantha had torn away. Of the strength that I’d lost while under her imprisonment. 

“We can go back,” Milo murmured as his fingers brushed over my bare thigh. “We’ll get them redone.”

Though the idea was mighty appealing, I needed to wait this time. I needed to be certain that when I got the ink on my body, I was ready for it, and that strength was back within me. 

Despite it, I nodded, and my eyes wandered to his body. I had no idea what he’d been through the past week, and the thought terrified me. 

“Take your shirt off,” I said. 

He arched one suggestive eyebrow. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

I shot him a look and he only smiled. Yes, my body roared for the physical reconnection between us, and it would come later once we’d navigated the unknowns first. Milo slid the grey longsleeve over his head to reveal glorious tattooed muscle beneath. My hand pressed against his hard chest and savoured the warmth it found there. 

But when my eyes wandered down to his torso, my heart stopped. There was a circle of scar tissue in the middle of his torso, still slightly swollen and purple around the edges. Everything within me bled at the sight of it. 

And there were more. Slicing wounds to his arms, his sides, a great nick to his left shoulder. 

“Can’t say I didn’t fight to get you back,” he said drily. Though my lips tugged up into a smile I suppressed it, and hit his shoulder as a scolding. 

“When?” I pointed to the stab wound in his stomach. “Who?”

He sighed. “Do you want to hear it all?” 

“Only if you’re ready to tell me,” I said. “I don’t want to…”

His eyes flickered with the same indecision that plagued mine. Testing each other’s boundaries. 

“There’s just so much to say,” I finally said. “For both of us.”

“I know, angel,” his arm reached out to pull me into his body, and I savoured the feeling of my cheek against his bare chest and curled into him. “But we’ve got time. We’ve got plenty of time. You can tell me whenever you’re ready.”

There was an ache in my chest, though. A knot that I needed to untangle. Not in a decade, not when I let it grow tighter and tighter until I can barely breathe. 

I wanted this to be over. I wanted this pain to be gone. 

“Now,” I breathed. “I want to tell you. I need to tell you.”

There was a relief that flooded his eyes, like he needed it just as much as me, and before I knew it my mouth was moving on its own.

*

We talked. For hours on end, every minute filled with words and stories and horrors that would be inked on my heart for the rest of my life.

But there were some things…there were somethings that wouldn’t surface. Hidden deep within the dark caverns in my heart, in my soul, they stayed tucked within all the other atrocities I’d been victim to, all the other atrocities I’d witnessed—and likely would, for the rest of my life. 

He spoke of every battle, every scar and slash and drop of blood. 

The hatred he’d felt for his father when he’d found out I went missing. 

Shame was molten and stirring within me as I could only imagine the guilt Rhysand must’ve felt—the one he knew he’d known full well he’d have to face when he’d delivered me to Amarantha—and I knew that I owed Rhys a debt un-payable over the course of my lifetime. 

 

I spoke of every loss, every dreamscape, every bend and twist in the hell I’d undergone. 

“I don’t know what’s me and what isn’t,” I said, staring down at this new body of mine. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

His finger smoothed over my skin. “That’s okay, Keorah,” he said, “you’re still so young. You still have so much life.”

The words echoed what Mama and Papa had told me. Sometimes I wondered what it would’ve been like for Milo to have met them while we were whole, and instantly ached at the thought of my family. 

More stories I’d whispered to Milo as the moon crept into the sky. He told me of how Carrick had aimed the arrow, and Papa took it to save him. He told me how he ripped Carrick to shreds for what he’d done. 

That death was gratifying. Knowing at least Papa had gotten vengeance. 

It seemed like there were no more words left. After the hours and hours of words being exchanged back and forth, words and thoughts and memories that I’d keep tucked within me for the rest of my existence. 

And at the end of it, when the flood of words ran dry, all I wanted to do was look into my mate’s eyes. 

He stared right back, his fingers creeping up and down the length of my spine and the bare skin there. My wings draped down, one to my right, the other over his legs. Every time I saw them in my peripheral vision I nearly jumped, but I was growing to adjust to them. Learning to fly, though, was a complete different story. 

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously, Keorah,” Milo said softly as his fingers trailed from my back to my wings and the array of plumage. Though the membrane was covered in feathers, I now understood why Milo lost control every time I touched his wings. 

They were very, very sensitive.

“What do you mean?” I balked, slapping his hand away. He smirked and continued his ministrations nonetheless, and I groaned as a pulsing heat rose in my core. 

“I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been calling you angel every since I’ve met you, angel,” he said pointedly, “and now…” he trailed off, gesturing to the wings. “I didn’t really mean you have to go and sprout _wings_. Don’t you think that’s taking it a bit too far?” The shit eating grin on his face, though infuriating, sent a lick of gratitude through my heart. Despite the sadness, we both still knew how to smile. 

I could barely hold back my incredulous stare. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Just stating the facts,” he said. “Now I’ve got to find a different name, though. If you can call me bat-brain, then I could definitely call you…” he bit his lip as he racked his brain. “…big bird.”

My jaw dropped. 

The roar of laughter that sounded from his chest sent me into a fit of my own, until we were both clutching each other, grinning like idiots. “Say that in front of Cassian,” I said, “and I won’t have sex with you for a century.”

His eyebrows raised. “A century? I don’t think even you could go that long.”

I quirked my shoulder. “I can find pleasure in more than just sensitive Illyrian males.”

The hand on my wing splayed out, a barely-there touch that sent my toes curling, and Milo said, “Really?”

I was about to protest until both hands were on both wings now, the pads of his fingers dragging down, down, down…

I moaned. Loud enough that Milo snickered. 

“A decade, you say?” He whispered huskily in my ear. 

I didn’t even bother responding before launching myself at him. 

The bond sighed as we tangled in a mess of lips and skin and teeth and tongue, trying to get every part of him as close to me as possible, trying to feel him—to feel all that’d been missing from me. I needed him. In a way I never knew I could need anyone in my life—emotionally, and physically. This electricity between us was enough to set the world burning. 

It wasn’t gentle or careful, it was burning with a passion and desire and longing that’d been building up in the both of us. We’d been separated so soon after our mating, so soon after our marriage that everything just seemed to feel heightened. Every touch, every caress and kiss and thrust—my body surrendered itself to him as he nudged at my entrance. 

My hand snaked up to rest against his cheek, already slick with sweat. His eyes held mine as I said, “I’m yours. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“I’m yours, Keorah,” he murmured, and I gasped as his length entered me. “And you’re mine.”

He did not hold himself back, and I did not want him to. He slammed into me and my being cried out at that final act of reunion. 

We were two bodies, two souls wrenched apart at every possible opportunity—set to hate each other since birth; destined to be apart through my death. But despite the odds, despite the cursed Gods and the shit hands the Mother had dealt us both, we’d made it here. To this moment, to this period of peace filled with what I could only hope would be love and light and healing—and I was eternally grateful. 

“Why are you crying?” Milo paused above me. I knew if I wanted to, he’d stop in a heartbeat. As I’d do for him. But that wasn’t the case. 

“I…” I shrugged my shoulders. There were no more words left for me, no other ways to convey what I’d felt for the male above me. “I just love you. So much.”

The stars that soared in his eyes put the ones in the sky to shame as he whispered, “I love you, too.”

I ground my hips up to meet his and the groan he loosened had us both moving again. I could feel myself getting to the edge, and I gripped Milo’s back as I thrust against him and he hit a spot deep within me that had my eyes rolling back into my head. Every part of me, every damned part of me was drunk on him.

My lover who’d burned down the world to be by my side. 

My friend who’d laid in the darkness with me and found the light.

My mate who took one look at my entire being and did not balk, did not back down, but saw me for who I was, as I saw him. My equal in every way.

Release shattered down my spine as Milo worked at me, only for him to cry out his own unleashing seconds later. My blood sang as he moved in me, and the breath loosened from my chest as his ministrations slowed, then ceased altogether. 

He settled down beside me, and my body already craved him once more. But I pushed it aside as I crawled over into him, into his chest, into his scent, into his warmth. 

His arms hugged me against his body, radiating blistering heat that I craved upon my skin. His lips pressed a firm kiss to my temple and I closed my eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote Bernie Taupin/Elton John, "I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do."  
> This chapter is unedited and I didn't even read over it to make sure there weren't any plot flaws (which I often make) so sorry if some of it doesn't make sense. (college is tiring and reading has become tedious now that it's scholarly journals)  
> I'm having an incredibly hard time wrapping up this series. I know exactly how it's ending--I've got it planned down to the sentence--but there's just such a finality to it that I'm so reluctant to write. It's the kind of writer's block that's got me tearing out my hair.  
> This has been my baby for almost a year and now it's so hard to let her go <3 but I've got more writing along the way that you'll hopefully enjoy, so stay tuned!  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat


	12. Gaps and Ledges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok, don't kill me. i know it's been a month.  
> here's the scene you've all been waiting for.  
> trigger warning (haven't done one in a while, but if you've gotten to this point, you know the usual): mention of self-harm and sexual assault.

Keorah

 

There was so much blood. 

Lapping against my knees, soaking the thin material of my clothes. Everything was crimson stain and wreaking as the dagger laid poised in my hands. And before me, the oldest human of the family stared back at me with a snarl on his lips. 

“You’ll never be clean,” he said, and as I stared down at my legs, coated in grime and gore, I knew he was right. “You’ll never be good. No matter what you’ve done, no matter what you do.”

I had to believe that there was a way to save me from this. To do right by the sacrifices I’d needed to make. 

“He’s right.” 

The voice echoed from behind me, and as I turned, tears streamed down my face when I took in Mama and Papa, looking down at me with such distaste in their features I thought I was going to collapse. 

“Please,” I choked out.

“There’s nothing else to be done,” Mama continued. “She’s too far gone.”

“No, please—” I sobbed as my knees slammed into the ground. When my eyes peered over my shoulder, past the tears I could see Amarantha and Carrick’s blurry forms. They smiled like the sadists they were as the dagger was wrenched from my hands. 

Amaratha purred in my ear, “It’s time to right what’s been wronged.”

My scream cleaved the throne room as the dagger was burrowed into my chest.

*

Darkness enveloped me, but I couldn’t stop clutching my sternum, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to keep my heart beating if only for a few more seconds to keep her from gaining those powers—

Hands clutched at me but I shook them off. The darkness squeezed in tighter, and I sobbed through clenched teeth. I couldn’t breathe, she killed me, she killed me and I failed them all—

“Keorah.” 

The voice was stern. Gentle. 

Familiar.

“It’s me. It’s Milo.”

Those words have been said before, though. In the dreamscapes. Where there was no reality, where there was no freedom, where I’d spent months thinking and reshaping myself into somebody else, where I’d dreamt I’d escaped and lived the rest of my happy life only to wake up in that dreaded cell—

“Keorah,” the voice sounded more broken, now. Pained. 

It couldn’t hurt to spend a few moments with him, though. Before the pain returned. Before I was back there. 

I let the darkness loosen. Only to realize it wasn’t my powers keeping me from the light. 

No, from the burning sensation in my back, I realized it was my wings that I’d folded myself into. 

Wings I’d acquired after I’d slain Amarantha. 

“Real,” I whispered under my breath. “Real, real, real.”

One by one, I let the wings drop gently back onto the mattress until the light poured in. My eyes squinted against the sun, yet when they adjusted, Milo was there on his knees beside me in the bed, hesitant. Like he didn’t know whether or not he could touch me. 

I didn’t know if I wanted him to touch me. Everything just felt so…heightened. Terrifying. Like if I breathed wrong I’d be wrenched away from here and plunged back into the darkness. 

“Real?” I whispered once more to Milo. 

“It’s me, Keorah,” he whispered, and the pained confusion in his features sent me teetering once more. Tentatively, he reached out and set his hand on the bare skin of my shoulder. It took everything within me not to flinch. “You’re at the townhouse. You’re safe.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until his hand crept up to my face and wiped the tears away. The warmth of his fingers against my cheek made me relax into the touch, until slowly but surely the muscles in my body unclenched, and the paralyzing feeling was gone. This was real. I’d gotten out. I was free. 

But Milo still looked unsure. Concerned. But there was something else. I could feel its sourness through the bond, like a coiled string on the brink of snapping. 

“What is it?” I murmured gently. 

He blinked. “It’s nothing. Are you alright?”

The lie was bitter, in my ears, on my lips. Though I’d been tantalized by fear only moments before, it seeped away as I took in the discomfort edging the lines of Milo’s stance. Clearly, something was bothering him, and I needed to know. 

“We can’t lie to each other. We can’t push each other away.” I knew there was desperation in my voice, but it was true. I needed him now more than I ever thought I would. “Not now. Not after everything.”

Milo’s eyes flicked away from mine, and he ran his tongue across his lips before saying, “I just hate seeing you like this. You shouldn’t be having to experience this right now.”

Myhead tilted in confusion. “Why are you angry then? Did I upset you? Is it too much for you?” I couldn’t understand the sudden irritation. If it bothered him, I’d try to be more quiet next time. But none of it made sense—Milo wouldn’t brush away my pain. Our entire bond and trust is built upon that pain and how we helped each other grow from it. 

“No— _never_. I will always be there for you when you need me, Keorah. You know that.” Within my chest, I could feel my heart ease at the words. But there was still something else bothering him, I could see it in the downwards lines of his cheeks. 

“I just feel like you could’ve avoided it. You shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

That’s what made me freeze. What made me freeze, and withdraw from him, put a healthy foot of distance between us. The words felt like a slap. 

No, they felt like a gaping pile of flaming shit. Absolute, complete horse shit. 

“So I should’ve sat on my arse as Amarantha enslaved the entirety of Prythian? As she took your family—your father and mother—and restored the tyranny she ruled seventy five years ago?” I nodded my head. “Alright. I’ll keep it in mind for next time.” I didn’t bother looking at him before disentangling myself from the sheets and storming over to his armoire. Though my anger pulsed through my core and I was restraining myself from downright strangling him, I didn’t have any clothes, and his jumpers were like heaven on my skin. (And they smelled so damn good. Like he was wrapped around me all day, no matter where I was). My wings scraped against the floor, but I didn’t have the energy to drag them upright.

“Keorah, that’s not what I meant.” He rose from the bed as well and his footsteps shook the household as he sounded closer behind me.

I whipped around to face him, and winced at the feeling of my wings smacking into the armoire. “Then what the hell did you mean exactly, Milo? Because it sounds like you’re mad at me for trying to save my people. For trying to save you. For doing what’s _right,_ for fuck’s sake!” I didn’t care that I was crying again. I put a hand on his chest and shoved him, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Is it not enough?” I sobbed. “Is it? I did everything for you. I gave _everything_ you!”

“You left me!” He exploded, his voice breaking, and the words drilled into my heart so deep I thought it would collapse.

“You left me, without any warning, without any means of contacting you or saying goodbye or—” he hiccupped on a sob, and his eyes filled with tears. They couldn’t meet mine. “You left me when I was still broken and confused and lost. You are the only person in my life that's never walked away from me." He paused. "We’d just gotten _married_. And everything with Oris and my family and my self-harm—I needed you.” He tentatively reached out and curled his fingers around my shoulders. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. And I know it’s selfish and horrible but—”

“No,” I whispered, taking a step forward into his warmth, “no it’s not.”

I’d forgotten about Oris. About Milo’s mental health problems. I hadn’t considered how my decisions would’ve affected them. 

And he hadn’t discussed it last night when we spoke. No, he hadn’t said a word about Oris or the self-harm. 

“What happened?” I murmured. “What happened while I was gone?”

Milo’s cheeks were splotchy and red as he blushed. My heart sank. 

“Milo,” I whispered, my hand reaching out to cup his cheek. Gently, I lead him back to the bed. His body was bare before mine save for undershorts, and his glamour stuck to his skin. We sat beside each other, with my hand on his cheek, and his eyes trained on our feet.

“Milo,” I murmured again soothingly, a question. If he didn’t want to say anything, I wouldn’t push him. 

But slowly, the glamour peeled back, and my heart fell to the floor as my worst thoughts became true. 

Because there—where, last time I’d seen, there were healing, bright pink scars—were deep, thick, red slashes lining the skin of his forearms and thighs. 

 

Milo

 

Like I said, the thing about self-harm is that it’s an addiction. 

It doesn’t just go away. You can’t quit it cold turkey. Well, you can, but it sure as hell didn’t work for me. 

I’d tried to suppress it after the cabin. I tried to push it away, to keep myself in check, to put Keorah’s suggestions into practice. But I lied to her. To her and myself. 

The day after our stay in the cabin I relapsed. After the art class, when I fled home, I relapsed. 

Only this time I tried to heal the wounds. I let my magic seep into my skin and turn the fresh cuts into days-old scars. When I got our tattoos, I made sure that my skin was mostly pockmarked, not freshly carved. And once they were in my skin, I tried to refrain from cutting again. It was that time when I wanted to quit cold turkey. 

I said as much to Keorah. Slowly. The words were hard to voice, but they floated from my mouth and painted the space between us with shame. 

“But then you left,” I said, tears flowing down my face, “and I hated to do it, Keorah. You know I hate it.”

“But you couldn’t stop.”

“I couldn’t stop.” I repeated, squeezing my eyes shut. I choked on a sob. “I couldn’t stop, and I wanted to punish myself for not being able to find you, for being so fucking useless during the entirety of your being absence.”

I cut even during battle. Even as we marched down to the Middle, I’d sneak away at night into the forest. That’s why my family saw so many scars when they found me. My glamour had begun to thin from all the extra concealment I had to do: the tattoos and the scars. When I’d gone unconscious that time, my glamour couldn’t hold as it usually did. 

And now I found myself in this huge fucking mess. 

But what’s new?

“What about Oris?” She wondered softly, but not forcefully. 

My eyes twitched of their own accord. I hadn’t been able to tell her about that either, last night. No, last night, I wanted to focus on her and the battle. She’d needed it more than I did. 

It took everything within me not to run away as I would’ve in the past. I levelled my gaze with hers. “I killed him. I ripped out his heart, and Azriel saw me do it.”

She only blinked. No reaction, no judgment, no fear or accusations. “So they know?”

I shook my head. “Azriel is the only one who knows about Oris. But they found me. They know of the scars, they just don’t know what they mean and why I…do what I do.”

Keorah nodded her head and looked at me. She really stared at me, for so long that I had to avert my gaze, stare at my feet. Eons passed as she processed the information. All I could feel was the pounding of my heart, but the sweet relief that came as I loosened some of the pressure on my chest. I knew talking about things made them better. I knew it. It was just so fucking hard to do.

“What do you want to do, then?” She wondered softly. 

Choice. It was a tricky, nasty thing at times—but it was always ours. She made her choices despite me, I made choices disregarding her. Like my continuous, active choice to screw myself over and continue my cycle of self-torture. I knew it killed her; I knew it killed her not to get help for me or say anything. Just as much as it killed me to know she was in pain, or close to death when she chose to leave.

“I know what I have to do. What I should have done all these years.”

Her swallow was audible. But my mate only placed both her hands on my cheeks and wiped my tears. “I am by your side no matter what, Milo. From now on, for always—together.”

I nodded, and the smile on her face sent my heart tripping over itself. Never—she’d never fail to amaze me, to spell me stupid with her vivaciousness and strength and beauty. 

“Together,” I echoed. 

+

Keorah

 

It was mid-day when Milo and I stood from the love seat in the townhouse’s sitting room. 

Mor appeared with Azriel first. Then came Feyre and Rhysand, and lastly, Cassian. 

It only took one of his killer smirks to have me bounding into his arms. 

He hugged me into his chest, and I was met with the scent of sage and sandalwood as I tried to keep my tears at bay, face digging into his shoulder. The Illyrian only smoothed my hair down with his hand and whispered, “We’re alive. We got out. We’re _alive_.”

“Real?” I murmured. It still felt like some wicked trick. Like her face would pop out at every twist and turn and pull the rug out from beneath my feet. 

“Real,” he replied. 

Slowly, he lowered me and the ground felt unsteady beneath me. When his ragged face came into view once more, I felt like my heart was going to burst. For a moment, I was back on that mountain top, and his lips were blue and lifeless, and his body was cold, so cold beneath me. 

But here we were. Alive. 

Real, this is real. 

Only there was shuffling behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see that Milo was folded between Feyre and Rhysand. There was visible relief in all three of their expressions as a family was reunited. 

Well, partially reunited. But Milo had told me last night that they would be here tonight, once everyone had the time to recover from the strain on their magic. Mor was about to keel over from all the winnowing, it seemed. 

Milo murmured something low, so low only his parents could hear it. And from the concealed shock on their expressions, I’m guessing he was going to talk to them. 

My eyes closed in relief. I didn’t know what I would’ve done if he kept on the way he was. Though I knew the self-harm wasn’t to die, it still posed a threat to his physical health and his mental health—and it was a constant reminder of his pain. He couldn’t go on like this. I refused to watch him self-destruct. 

_I’m going to tell them._ The words echoed down the bond between us. My eyes met his from across the room. They were filled with a nervousness I’d seen in him very few times. Down the bond, I sent him a glimmer of pride.

_You can do this. You just have to be honest. They’ll love you no matter what, Milo._

His shoulders lifted a little, and I felt two mental fingers down the bond, full of love, adoration and gratitude.

“We’ll be at the House,” they said before winnowing. 

It left only Azriel, Mor, Cassian, Amren and I in the townhouse. And their gazes all seemed to turn to me. 

“Well?” Amren said. “What the hell happened?”

Mor only traipsed to the liquor cabinet. “What are we feeling tonight boys? Wine or whiskey?”

And it was Azriel, of all people, who said, “Whiskey. Definitely whiskey.”

**

Milo

 

We winnowed to the House of Wind. Our house had been destroyed, and this was all we had left. 

The only sound encompassing us as we walked to the sitting room was the echo of footsteps. I lead them until I was seated on the couch, both of them across from me on the opposing sofa. 

I felt small. Like a child ready to be scolded. 

But I couldn't make myself disappear. I couldn't run away, I couldn't flee, I couldn't keep hiding from the problems in my life. 

Hiding is what drove the division between us. Hiding is what almost got me killed; what kills me a little more every day. 

So I wrung my hands in my lap, unable to look into their eyes, and said, “I'm going to talk and you're not going to say anything until I'm done, or else I won't be able to get through this, okay?”

I didn't look up, but I could see from my peripheral vision that they nodded their heads. Dad's face was neutral, unemotional. Mum just looked tired, but also blanch, like she was staring at a ghost. 

“I hated Illyrian training when I was young because I was weak. Everyone else hated me and saw me as a target, and they used it against me. My entire life I've felt weak: physically, emotionally, all the time. I've been constantly reminded about the great powers and roles I'd have to play and use in the future. But I could never see myself doing that because of who I was. Insignificant.”

I looked up at them. They still remained impassive. Patient. There was no judgment, there was no fear or contempt. My heart felt like it was going to tear a hole through my chest. Coated in a sheen of sweat, I wiped my hands against my pants and tried to clear the lump in my throat. 

“I had one friend, though. Before I met Nya and Raph. Who promised to help me get stronger. Who told me they could teach me the ways of the Illyrians.

“Oris,” I said after a short pause. “Oris helped me. He got me stronger. He did everything he said he would. But he wasn't my friend.”

I touched my fingers to the tears on my face. I was like a river of grief, my skin bathed in the waters of despair and shame. It was so fucking embarrassing to say the words out loud. They choked up in my throat, what I'd hidden for thirty years. It pounded at the doors of my mouth, demanding to be released, but I couldn't do it. 

I couldn't do it. I was spiralling again, and I just wanted to winnow back to the cabin and escape this personal hell of torture—

Then there was warmth beside me. I hadn't realized that I'd folded in on myself. But I felt my mother's soft, calloused hands slowly peel away the arms I'd wrapped around myself like barriers and take my sweat coated hand. My father, to my left, only wrapped his arm around my back, and they both held me against them as I became completely undone. 

“He hurt me,” I sobbed. “he hurt me like she hurt you, dad. The entire time I knew him.”

I could feel dad’s body go stiff. I could feel the energy gathering around him. Even mum paused as she let the words sink in. 

All I felt was the weight settling off my chest. Breath by shallow breath, the boulders of secrets I carried on my shoulders came careening down. 

For the first time in thirty five years, I could fucking breathe. 

I was just…I couldn’t even believe that I’d just said that to him. After so long of suffering with these thoughts in silence, having those words out in the open…

I never thought I’d live to see the day I could conjure the strength to say it. 

It was like speaking, breathing for the first time without feeling like a fraud.

“What?” Dad whispered. His voice dripped with shock and horror. 

Mum couldn’t even breathe. I could hear her heartbeat quickening, and I could hear that lack of easy in and out pattern of her breath.

I unravelled myself from my cocoon. I let my hands drop, let my barriers drop, let it all go—I looked both my mother and father in the eyes and croaked, “Oris molested me for the four years that I knew him.”

Tears flew down dad’s cheeks. He stared at me blankly like he couldn’t understand. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mum’s face was splotchy and flush as the wetness gathered in her eyes. “How could—why did—” when she couldn’t get the words out, she just covered her face with her hands, unable to say anything at all. 

“And it just added to all the pain that was already there,” I continued quietly. “Not being able to live up to your expectations. Not being a good son or a good enough leader for this court. Not being strong or powerful enough—”

“Milo,” dad admonished quietly. 

“—and that’s when the cutting started. On the nights I felt like I was spiralling out of control, and because I was so fucking miserable that I couldn’t feel anything at all anymore.”

There. That was it. That was all of it, to the best of my explanation, without completely cracking and shattering into pieces before them. 

Silence swam around us. Even the winds blowing against the mountain caps seemed to dim in the wake of the revelations. 

“But you… you never told us anything,” dad murmured. His eyes burned with the light of pain and hurt. “You never said a thing.”

“Why didn’t you just tell us, Milo?” Mum’s voice broke when she said my name. They’d seemed to distance themselves since I’d said everything, and my heart trembled at the space between us. 

“How was I supposed to tell you that?” Neither of them could have possibly known what it was like. To be scared and confused and hurting so much, without any way to put it in to words and voice it. “How was I going to mention this in casual conversation?”

“You could’ve avoided this,” dad gestured to my forearms, and I slid them in closer to my body. “If you’d told us any of it, we could’ve helped you, Milo.” 

“You were too busy.” I spat. There it finally was: the anger I’d been hiding in my heart that I hated to face, but it was true: they were too busy to raise me on their own; they were too busy to notice the disturbances in my life, and hell, they were still too busy to notice Isra’s outbursts. “With the court, with the alliances, with all of it. You didn’t have time for me.”

“We did everything we could to raise you right, Milonius, and you know that. We were there with you every step of the way. We supported you in everything you did, and you cannot take that away from us.” Mum’s face were flushed with red, pulsing anger. 

“Then how come I’m so fucked up?” I yelled. “Explain that. Please. Because I’ve been asking myself for decades and I still don’t understand.”

Dad shouted, “Because you never told us! We asked you over and over again, and you never told us. You walked away.”

“You _let_ me walk away!” I cried. 

A sob, broken and choked, escaped my lips, and my eyes began to fill with more tears. 

“You knew I wasn’t okay. Every single time, you knew there was something else going on. But you let me walk away. Even after you saw the cuts. Even after they stole me in the night.” I shrugged. “I didn’t talk, but you sure as hell didn’t try to help me.”

Now there were tears on their faces. And all three of us just stared at each other, at a cross roads. Where did we go from here? Now that we knew what was broken, where the hell did we even begin to fix it?

“He really did that?” Dad murmured quietly. 

I knew who he was talking about, and I nodded. 

“That’s why you killed him.” Mum said. I nodded again. 

“Oh, Milo,” dad’s voice broke, “I’m so sorry.” 

His arms wrapped around me. At first, I stood there awkwardly in his embrace, arms stuck at my sides. 

But then the brunt of all I’d just said really hit me. The adrenaline left my body, and I was just a scared boy, melting into the embrace of his parents. 

I sobbed into dad’s shoulder as mum ran her hands over my hair and back. And though I felt like I was six years old with a scraped knee, it was okay. This is what I needed. 

My parents didn’t hesitate and pulled me into them as I collapsed, wrapping my arms and clutching them like a lifeline as I cried and cried and unleashed all that I’d been holding back within me. All the repressed emotions, all the pent up anger and despair and frustration finally poured into the gap that’d grown between us.

And so that’s where we started: by filling the gap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.  
> I know it's been so long, but I have literally been trying to write this scene 83 different ways and none of them have worked out except this one. Because opening about these issues are so fucking hard to do in reality, writing it into a fictional narrative was making my brain go numb.  
> I tried to follow along with my personal experience discussing sh with my parents because this about sums it up (except a lot more yelling and mis-understanding). As for sexual assault, though I am extremely grateful for never having experienced it, I hope this did it justice, and please feel free to give me feedback and criticism if it doesn't or if it's offensive in any way (because that's the exact opposite of my intentions). I am trying to write these issues into fantasy because I believe it's really interesting to use them in characterization, and I hope you've felt the same along the way.  
> Now, for the rest of this fanfic.  
> I've ball-parked about another 2-3 chapters to wrap this up. I've gotten a few requests for scenes that I'll try my best to write in, but besides that, it's almost over guys :' ) it's been a wild ride.  
> See ya next time  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	13. Cities and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah goes home.

_ 1 Week Later _

 

Keorah

The fallout was…minimal.

Manageable. 

Milo was sent to a healing facility in the Dawn Court. 

Not for any lingering injuries—though they presumably tended to those—but for his mind. Morrigan had suggested it to Rhys and Feyre, and when they presented the option to Milo, he took it. Reluctantly at first, but we all knew he needed it. We all knew it would help him in ways we couldn’t. 

There were 3 weeks left on his program. I hadn’t been able to see him; we didn’t even talk through the bond of ours. Rhys and Feyre had explained that I was one of Milo’s crutches—something he depended on too heavily for support. Nobody except immediate family could see him—and even their visits were limited. The point was to try and let himself heal on his own, to not have him depend on anybody else but himself. 

So he could learn to trust himself. So he could learn that while his mind could be his enemy, it could also be his friend. 

I’d considered the program for myself after Feyre and Rhys described how much better he looked. Not muscular or fitness wise, but physically: in the sense that colour had returned to his face. The scars had begun to fade because they took away all sharp objects, and put restraints on his magic which only allowed him to use it during supervised sessions. No conjuring of his blade when things got bad.

I could probably use it. But there was so much going on, so much for me to attend to that the darkness kept at bay for once. 

Before he’d left, though, we met with the Circle on one important issue: my powers. 

Nobody would ever know of them besides the members of the Inner Circle. They’d make sure of it. And anybody who suspected or breathed a threat against me would completely forget why they even presumed such a thing, thanks to Rhys’s daemati powers. Though I could probably just order them to forget, I didn’t want to use the powers themselves. The orders could get messy, and I didn’t know how the magic worked—there was no use in creating more chaos than this land already had. 

Using the magic on Amarantha even felt wrong, cruel and despicable as she was. 

But there was one clause that we’d all agreed upon. Should I ever try to wield the powers against others cruelly, if I ever showed signs of madness or cruelty with intentions of evil or destruction—I’d be killed. 

It’d been my suggestion. Others in the Circle balked, but Amren nodded knowingly (which Milo did _not_ appreciate). But Milo agreed, after much persuasion, that if it came down to it, he’d be the one to kill me. 

I hoped it wouldn’t get to that. But if it did, I wanted him to be the one to do it. 

After he left, we’d met with the High Lords and Ladies once more to ensure all was well. I also formally announced my place as High Lady of the Spring Court. Eris had scoffed, but the others seemed… hopeful. Tarquin had pulled me aside afterwards to chide that he was no longer the youngest on the board. And that he was interested in a future alliance between the courts. 

It was exhilarating to fulfill the position. I’d been waiting my entire childhood for this. 

But it was also achingly terrifying. 

I admitted as much to Feyre and Mor one night. We’d been walking along the Sidra after dinner and drinks at Rita’s. They’d wanted a girl’s night (Amren was too busy watching the soccer game at the stadium with Rhys and Cassian), and they’d given me one too many glasses of wine. I’d gone blubbery on them and admitted my fears, to which they replied that they would teach me all they knew about Court politics and functions. That though it was terrifying, I had all the people I needed by my side. 

Then we’d gone back to Mor’s loft for more wine. That’s when they broke out all their classic stories involving the Inner Circle. Mor’s neighbours pounded at their walls twice to tell us to shut the hell up and go to bed (which only made us laugh louder). 

Azriel was trying to teach me to fly. Trying being the operative term, because I was too scared to actually let myself fall through the air. My muscles had gotten used to the wings, and I could carry them upright nearly all day without tiring too much—but using them? Gliding through the air? Watching the earth tilt below me at break-neck speed? I wasn’t quite ready for that. 

Cassian teased me endlessly about it during our sparring sessions. I flipped him off most of the time and pushed him over the side of the balcony of the House of Wind. He only laughed louder as he descended through the air, then banked right back up to flap mockingly above me. 

Rhysand held sessions with me as often as he could to teach me about the ins and outs of running a court. It was an endless stream of tasks, meetings, paperwork and policies to uphold that sent me dizzy. The only thing that reassured me was when he told me he was six hundred years old and still felt like he sometimes had no idea what he was doing. 

Rhys and I… in Milo’s absence, Rhys and I spent a lot of time on the rooftop of the townhouse talking. About his experience as a young High Lord, about the work dynamic with him and Feyre. 

We also talked about Under the Mountain. And Amarantha. 

I hadn’t been yet to visit her yet at the Prison. I didn’t want to, not for another millennia. 

But I told Rhys what had been done to her. What his father had done to her. 

I’d never imagined I’d ever see the High Lord of the Night Court sobbing into his hands. But I was there, crying with him, sharing our pain together. Cursing everyone for the injustice of it all. 

Letters came from the Spring Court. The board of advisors needed me down there, and they urged I arrive as soon as I could. A decay had fallen the land because we’d missed Calanmai, and being detached from a ruler for so long, the lands begin to lose their magic. From the looks of it, it was severe. Coming back from such a plague could sometimes take years. 

I read the letters, but I couldn’t… I wasn’t ready. To go back. Not yet.

Cassian and I were sitting and stretching in the ring at the House of Wind, enjoying the afternoon sunlight. We tried to upkeep our sessions as much as possible, but he was busy in the North attending to the Illyrians; whether it be reading reports or meeting with commanders about the wounded and surviving, the warrior seemed perpetually exhausted. I didn’t know how he managed to even stand in the ring this morning, let alone knock me on my ass. 

"How is he doing?”

We both knew who I was talking about. Cassian, Az, Amren and Mor were allowed a half hour visit yesterday. I had nearly set a clearing on fire at the injustice of it. Cassian gently—extremely gently—reminded me that I was a crutch for him and could inhibit the healing process. 

Cassian grinned. "Better. He still has some time left on the program, but he looks great already, Keo. I don't think I've ever seen him in such good shape."

Feyre told me the other day that Milo had smiled at her and she nearly broke down. It'd been years since she'd received a genuine, full glinting smile from her son. 

"I still don’t get why you were able to visit and not me," I sighed. "I miss him. Annoying, prick parts and all."

"Prick parts especially," Cassian's eyebrows wiggled at me. I rolled my eyes. 

“And you know why. You’re one of his—”

“I know, I know, I’m a crutch.” I murmured. “I just want to see him. It’s…” I trailed off. My mind began to wander back underground, back to that place, but I took a deep breath and focused on Cassian. Like Hirus, my personal healer, kept telling me to do so. “It’s been difficult.”

“Have you been improving, though?” Cassian wondered quietly. I nodded, but couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead I trailed my gaze to the expanse of the mountain top above us, vast and seemingly unending from our view in the House of Wind.

“Slowly.” I said. The nightmares came every night now. Not having Milo there was hard, because I’d always reach for him and find the cold, empty bed. But just as he was healing in the Dawn Court, I needed to learn to cope on my own. To trust myself. To be alright, to be my own entity, apart from him. We’d relied on each other too heavily for too long. Not that it was entirely a bad thing, but for now, we needed to focus on ourselves.

Everyone did. Which is why I further questioned, “And what about you?”

Cassian swallowed hard. “It’s difficult. To talk.” He shrugged. “After all the hardships this Inner Circle has faced, no one has ever really considered seeing mind-specialized healers before now. Especially not me, Illyrian brutish ways and all.”

I snorted. Cassian was very adamant and opposing when I first offered the idea to him. But slowly as he himself began to descend into that pit I’d known myself too well, he finally contacted a healer in Velaris. 

“But it’s helping. I feel it, the weight coming off my chest.” The words were barely audible over the sound of the wind. 

My hand reached out to Cassian’s, laying idly on the ground between us, and squeezed. “I’m glad. We all needed it.”

He squeezed back. The non-verbal, that’s what Cassian and I excelled at. Just the look in his eyes and the squeeze of his hand, I knew he was conveying gratitude without being able to say it. Just like I was never able to thank him for the sacrifice he’d made for me. 

“So when does the queen take her throne?” The male chided playfully, and I tugged my hand back, not before slapping him lightly on the forearm. 

“You know I don’t like it when people say that,” I grumbled. My powers seemed harmless to everyone but me.

“I meant,” Cassian said jokingly, “when do you move back to your golden estate?”

I bit my lip. That was the question on everyone’s minds. Mine especially. Because though the Spring Court called to me, though the powers shifted to me and beckoned me to go home and take care of my lands, I couldn’t face that house, and the baggage it carried alongside of it. 

“There’s still work to be done here before I go.”

The warrior snorted. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true.” I bit out. 

“It’s not, and you know it. The letters you’ve been receiving beg to differ.” He looked at me pointedly. “You’re waiting for Milo.”

“No,” I grumbled. 

“Yes, you are, and that’s the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing right now. You’ve got to learn to grow and heal by yourself, Keo. This step? Going back there?” He exhaled. “You’ve got to take that step by yourself.”

“It’s easier said than done.” I snapped. I didn’t care that Papa had been mind controlled the entire time. I didn’t care that Mama and he were at peace on the other side; I didn’t care that they found happiness in the end, because I was still here. And I was still left with the memories of pain engraved into every crevice of that manor. 

All the screams. All the blood. 

The paleness of Mama’s skin. 

Images like that didn’t just disappear because the situation changed. They were tattooed in the darkest corners of your mind, and showed up at random whenever they felt like torturing you, for hours on end. 

“I know.” Cassian said. “But you’ve got to take the leap, Keorah. I know you. You want to be there for your people. You want to heal the Spring Court; you want to bring joy back to your lands.” He pointed to the horizon where the sun teetered on the ledge, ready to set at any moment. “They are calling for you. This is your time. You’ve got to forget everything in your head and appreciate this moment right here, right now.”

It’s what Hirus kept telling me as well. That everything is in my mind, and I have the power to control my thoughts. To break up the patterns of my thinking. To stop myself from spinning and spiralling down into a scatter. To forget about the past and the future. To be in this moment.

“Ok. I’ll pack my things tonight.” I said. 

“Wait, seriously?” 

“Seriously. I need to just rip the bandage off. It’s time.”

Cassian smiled and rose to his feet, offering a hand out to me. “That’s my girl.”

***

The next day, dawn rose, and I'd long since been awake, bathing, readying myself for the day ahead. 

All of the Spring Court's inhabitants had been sent to the underground prison tunnels Amarantha had constructed during her first reign. They'd been winnowed home with the help of certain soldiers who'd volunteered their powers. Nonetheless, they were frightened. Their homes hadn't been destroyed, yet their sense of safety was shattered. 

They needed a leader. They needed hope, no matter in which shape or form. 

Even if I didn't know what I was doing, I could pretend like I had an inkling until then. If only for my people's sake. 

They needed me. So I stood in the entrance to the townhouse clad in a pair of fashionable fighting leathers, Rhys and Feyre before me. My stomach felt like it was going to fall to my feet, but my mate's parents' warm smiles appeased the anxiety, if only momentarily. 

“If you need anything, send us a note. We'll be there for you every step of the way.”

“I know. And I thank you endlessly for your support throughout all of this. Really.” I pursed my lips as my heart trembled at the thought of being home. “It's still just so nerve-racking.”

Feyre looked knowingly to Rhys, like there was a joke I didn't understand that passed between them. “We thought you would feel this way. So we invited someone to make it a little easier.”

As if on cue, Rhys opened the door to the townhouse. 

Bright red hair made me flinch upon first sight. But when I saw his face...

My body reacted before I could form a thought. I went crashing into Lucien's arms, and he held me fiercely against him. 

“I leave you alone for a few months, and you go and cause all this trouble in my absence?” 

I slapped his arm and he smiled as I withdrew from his embrace. Lucien said, “Keep the dying to a minimum, please. If only for the next few decades.”

I laughed and he squeezed my arm. When I looked over my shoulder, Rhys and Feyre were standing there, his arm slung casually around her shoulder, gazing upon us with a warmth that never failed to bring a smile to my face. 

“We'll send for you when Milo returns.” Rhys said. 

I nodded my head, then looked to Lucien. He asked, “Are you ready?”

I took his hand in mine. “Let's go home.”

There was smoke and darkness, then a warm breeze lifted the hair off my shoulders as we stood in the rolling foot hills of the Spring Court. 

I gasped. The Decay had been swift. Brutal. 

Everything in my peripheral vision was brown and wilted, caving into the ground like rotting weeds. It made my powers ache; it made my being balk at the sight of such death and destruction. 

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Lucien murmured as his gaze swept across the land. 

I nodded, then took a step forward and said over my shoulder, “Then we better get started.”

***

_ 3 Weeks Later _

 

Keorah

 

'The breath rushed out of me as I collapsed on my back against the bed. This job was running me ragged. 

Another meeting with the new councillors. They were relentless, hardworking people, all of them—equally supportive as they were demanding. We poured over the paperwork and decisions tirelessly day after day, whether they be budgets, censuses, trade agreements or laws. The lines of text had begun to blur this afternoon, though, and Lucien mercifully called it a day when he saw the exhaustion in my body. 

“You’ve got to get sleep,” Lucien said as he perched on the side of my desk. It was riddled with paperwork inked in my messy scrawl. A pen had leaked and I still hadn’t cleaned it up yet. Too much effort. 

“Sh,” I said. “Just thirty seconds.” I whispered as I closed my eyes. 

“The new councillors can handle a day without you there. I’ll be your representative, take notes, bring all the documents home and review them with you tomorrow night.”

“No. If they can put the effort in after everything, then I can as well. We’re all new to this, Lucien.”

I’d fired every single one of Papa’s old courtiers. I didn’t take a cent from them, but knowing damn well they didn’t need another damn penny from this court, I sent them back to their gleaming manors and found myself without a board of councillors. 

It didn’t take long for the villages to hear. And it didn’t take long for the letters to pour in, demanding to have their voices and concerns heard. 

I’d stayed up all night with Lucien, a map, and these letters. He and I charted the territories and villages of the Spring Court equally. It took forever, and we knew it would probably be in vain when we shot the idea out. 

But…it worked.

I went from village to village. Whether riddled with poverty or thriving with promising merchants, Lucien and I winnowed day after day and met with the settlers.  I tried to infuse as much of my magic as I could into the lands to help with crops and re-growth of the foliage. It was draining, but the grounds were their source of life, and I could manage the bone-deep exhaustion in the mean time.  All twenty divided regions and villages voted on a single councillor who’d travel back and forth from their village to the capital as their representative on my board of councillors. 

I wanted change. I wanted to make my parents proud. I wanted to make my people proud. 

Seeing the hope in their faces—not disappointment, not arrogance or sneers of distaste, but hope…

It made every day worth it. It made every minute of sleep lost worth it as we tried to build this new, better world. 

“Then let’s call a rest period. For everybody. Give them a break to go home and see their families.”

I opened one eye. He was staring at me pointedly. My sleep-deprived state was clearly proof enough for him.

“Blessed-daughter. Please.” Lucien’s knuckles gripped the edge of the desk and I groaned. 

“Why are you so adamant about this?”

“Because he thinks you might want to spend some time with your mate,” a voice drawled. 

One moment, I felt like my very marrow was being drained from my bones. Like all my muscles had atrophied and I was but a sack of flesh and skeleton. 

But when Milo stood there, leaned up against the brick wall with an easy grin on his face, I’d never felt so alive in my entire life. I jolted upright on the edge of the bed but made no further movements, fearing my knees would buckle if I dared to stand.

It was like falling in love for the first time. Over, and over, and over again, staring into his midnight eyes. He made everything else quiet. His presence spoke _volumes_. It made every fibre within me ache at the distance between us, no matter how short. 

He stood differently. His chin was tilted higher. He was wearing only a grey t-shirt and dark trousers in the warm spring weather. All across his arms, the scars were there for all to see—faded, but still there. Out in the open. 

He'd never shown them to anyone purposely. It made my breath hitch in my throat. I couldn't verbalize the pride coursing through my veins. 

I just... I just looked at him. 

And he just looked at me. 

“No work tomorrow,” Lucien said again. “I’ve already told the councillors.” I didn’t watch as the male stepped towards the door and called, “Consider it a late mating gift!” No, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Milo. 

My heart pounded in my chest. 

“Hello, angel,” Milo breathed. 

I swallowed hard, unable to keep the emotion from seeping through my voice. “Hello, batling.”

It was all it took for him to cross the distance between us in sweeping strides. He gripped my face, and his mouth met mine. 

We could barely catch our breath as our bodies reunited, as they exploded into euphoria with each point of contact between us. The bond rejoiced with elation. There were tears on my face. Tears of happiness, exhaustion, emotional overload, I didn’t know—but Milo wiped them away with the pad of his thumb, settling on the bed next to me, laying on our sides. 

“You look so…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. Healthy. Vibrant. Happy. 

His smile was sheepish. “Yeah. I feel it, too.” Milo squeezed my hand. “For real this time.”

"How was it? How was everything?" 

He blew out a breath and it fanned across my face. There was unrest written there, but it seemed blanketed with a feeling of peace. Acceptance. "It was the hardest, most draining experience of my life. Every day when I first got there, I was itching to leave. But the effort was worth it. Feeling like this, living like this..." He shook his head. "I haven't felt like this in the longest time."

"I'm so happy for you," I whispered, cupping his cheeks between my hands. "I'm so proud of you, Milo."

"Thank you," he choked out. 

For a few moments, we just laid there, nose to nose, breathing each other in and becoming re-familiarized with our bodies. 

“Your family?” I wondered eventually. 

“Says hello,” he completed. “Pissed that I didn’t stay for more than a few minutes. Mor mentioned something about fighting you for right to more quality time with me.”

I slapped his arm. “You should’ve stayed the night with them.”

“No. I’m right where I need to be.” At that, I pressed a kiss to his cheek, until he murmured, “which is where, exactly? Lucien was very vague with the details.”

“You don’t remember?” I pointed downward. “The Thorn’s Prick downstairs? Ridon’s renting this place out to me.”

“Does rent include liquor expenses?” 

“You're so cheap.”

He smiled and reached over to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear. My eyes fell shut and I leaned into the warmth of his touch. 

“Show me around,” he murmured. 

The apartment was spacious. It was all one space, a studio apartment Ridon called it, with the bed at the very back of it near the emergency exit that Milo had entered from. The front of the consisted of the kitchen against one wall flowing into the dining room, only a short table for four, and then a simple love seat with two chaises and a coffee table. The bathroom was just off the side of the bedroom. It was sparsely decorated, and kind of ratty, but with a few touches I could definitely see us living here. Short term or long term, I didn’t care—I just couldn’t stand all the space in the manor. And the servants. I wanted something private and quaint that I could share with my mate. 

“There’s a surprise for you as well,” I said as I led him to the bathroom. Because the space was on the smaller side, Ridon compromised by replacing traditional bathing system with something different. 

Upon entry in the bathroom, Milo was confused. “Where will we wash?”

I pulled back the glass door and pointed to the nozzle hanging from the wall. “In here.”

He was still clearly confused. I said, “It’s a shower. Look.” I flicked the nozzle up and the hot water came cascading down. 

Milo blinked several times until the silver in his eyes disappeared. Baths were sensitive. For both of us. But now…

“You can get into some pretty interesting positions in that,” he whispered huskily against my neck. I arched my back as he softly pressed his lips to the sensitive flesh. Before I knew it, we were naked in the steam, and I couldn’t think of a better way of baptizing our new home.

***

Milo

 

“How did you and Lucien come _up_ with this?” I wondered as I shuffled the papers around. It was long and thorough for Keorah to explain the exact details of the ruling reform, but I listened attentively the entire way and asked questions whenever I got confused. 

Now I stared at me with awe in my eyes. I’d never seen anything like it. Our system certainly wasn’t like it, though we desperately tried to keep in mind of public opinion whenever making any decisions regarding internal affairs. Yet this… it was taking it to another level. Giving the ultimate power to the people—to have them represented in each decision, in each aspect of their lives to the greatest extent Keorah could. 

The Spring Court certainly had never seen reform such as this. Prythian had never seen reform such as this. 

“I just…” she shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to give choice back to the people of my court. After having my life being dictated by other people for so long, I couldn’t imagine what reality they could be living after the centuries of near-dictatorship ruling. It’s not fair that all the power goes to one person. It’s not fair that one person should make decisions for thousands of people just because of their lineage. I’ve seen what that does, and I don’t want it for my court. Not anymore. Hopefully never again.”

Glancing down at the numbers Lucien had drafted, I knew it was going to be difficult. Though the coffers ran up after the war effort and things were looking good at the moment—we never knew what kind of changes this governmental redistribution could bring. 

“It’s going to be really, really tight budget-wise the first few years. Seriously. I don’t know if the people are going to love you or hate you for this.”

Keorah shook her head and stepped over to the window overlooking the avenue below. It was the Spring Court capital’s main artery street we’d rode down all that time ago, gazing upon the restaurants and boutiques that seemed achingly empty. There were a few foreclosure signs on some of the business’ doors that’d brought a frown to my mouth. 

I sat back in our dining room chair and quietly waited for her to respond. “I did a bad thing.”

My heart sped up for a moment. “Surely it’s not as bad as your ominous tone is currently making it out to be.”

Keorah chuckled and glanced back at me, then carefully said, “I sold all the family heirlooms.”

I choked on the saliva in my mouth. Guilt tugged the corners of her mouth down, but all I could gasp out was, “You _what_?” 

“I sold them. All the unnecessary ones. And the ones that didn’t look like some vital piece of history.”

“To _whom_?” I pressed on more urgently. 

“The Day Court,” she muttered begrudgingly. 

“Keorah.”

“We didn’t need them!” She said. 

I countered, “They’re a part of your court’s history! They’re supposed to be passed down! Selling them like that…” I shook my head. “It’s sacrilege!”

“Not if the money is to invest in my court’s future. Throughout the seventeen years I spent in that manor, not once did those bloody things serve any use. My father didn’t even use them to _gloat_. They were just collecting dust. So I sold them, and the money is currently in a pending transaction to add to the royal coffers.”

“How much?” I wondered. 

Keorah held my gaze, and her eyes were burning with that raw tenacity and fire. Swiftly, she strode to my side, took the pen and added a sum below the initial one I’d been analyzing.

I blinked at the number. 

“Oh shit,” I murmured.

“Mhm.” She sniped smugly in response. 

“Mother’s tits, Keorah,” I swore, a smile upon my face. 

She said, “I think the theatre should go on the main street. And the artist’s gallery just beside it. Maybe we’ll build a whole new city altogether dedicated just to the arts and fine services, like in Velaris. A capital city just like Velaris, but with a better name.”

I choked on a laugh. "What's it going to be? Keorah-Town?"

Her eyes cast me that ' _You idiot_ ' look, but then she whispered more gently, "Lyria. For Mama."

"They'd be so proud. Your mum and dad." I said lowly, and she nodded, unable to meet my gaze.

I couldn’t resist the urge to scoop her into my arms. She laughed as we spun around our living room. The sum…it was unimaginable. It was enough for the reform. Hell, it was enough to destroy the entire city and build three of them again. 

“They won’t have to pay a cent,” she swore, “they’ll be able to rebuild. To heal. In peace. When things balance out again, we’ll introduce the tax. But for now…”

“A better world,” I breathed, trailing a finger down the side of her cheek. "Lyria. A better city."

“One you can rule over, too,” Keorah murmured, a hopeful spark lighting in her eyes.

I sighed. We’d been over this before, but she was so stubborn. “I don’t want to be High Lord, Keorah. Not of the Night Court, not of the Spring Court. That’s your role. That’s _your_ title, and nobody else’s.”

“I never said you had to be High Lord.” She said, her hands smoothing over my chest. “Consort sounds like a wonderful fit.”

“Consort.” The word was hesitant in my mouth. Foreign. But…I liked it. 

“Consort,” she repeated. “Consort to the High Lady of the Spring Court.”

“Now that,” I said, “is a title I can live with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gods. I can't believe it's been so long, I'm so sorry! I've been so lazy and hesitant on updating this story. I really want to give it the perfect ending and I had to rewrite this dozens of times before I got it right.   
> But now there are only two chapters left :( One full length chapter and one Epilogue. I can't believe it's coming to an end! Over one year of working on my baby and she's all grown up.   
> Thank you all once again for the endless support on this story. Like I said, it really is my baby, and I can't believe that it got this far. Thank you for enjoying Milo and Keorah's journey and sticking it through with me :)  
> I'll try to update soon and have this wrapped up before 2020. Until then!  
> Have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!


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